"Say there, papa, if you will be so kind as to give me the address
of your tailor in London!"

A chuckle comes from the antiquated and wrinkle-scrawled face, and
then the poilu, checked for an instant by Barque's command, is
jostled by the following flood and swept away.

When some less striking figures have gone past, a new victim is
provided for the jokers. On his red and wrinkled neck luxuriates
some dirty sheep's-wool. With knees bent, his body forward, his back
bowed, this Territorial's carriage is the worst.

"Tiens!" bawls Tirette, with pointed finger, "the famous
concertina-man! It would cost you something to see him at the
fair--here, he's free gratis!"

The victim stammers responsive insults amid the scattered laughter
that arises.

No more than that laughter is required to excite the two comrades.
It is the ambition to have their jests voted funny by their easy
audience that stimulates them to mock the peculiarities of their old
comrades-in-arms, of those who toil night and day on the brink of
the great war to make ready and make good the fields of battle.

And even the other watchers join in. Miserable themselves, they
scoff at the still more miserable.

"Look at that one! And that, look!"