There were three American boys from the region of Philadelphia
in the dugout, "Somewhere in France"; and they found it a snug
habitation, considering the circumstances.

The central heating system--a round sheet-iron stove, little larger
than a "topper" hat--sent out incredible quantities of acrid smoke
at such times as the rusty stovepipe refused to draw. But on cold
nights and frosty mornings the refractory thing was a distinct
consolation. The ceiling of the apartment lacked finish. When
wet it dropped mud; when dry, dust. But it had the merit of being
twenty feet thick--enough to stop any German shell except a "Jack
Johnson" full of high explosive. The beds were elegantly excavated
in the wall, and by a slight forward inclination of the body
you could use them as _fauteuils_. The rats approved of them
highly.

There were two flights of ladder-stairs leading down from the trench
into the dugout, and the holes at the top which served as vestibules
were three or four yards apart. It was a comfort to think of this
architectural design; for if the explosion of a big shell blocked
up one of the entrances, the other would probably remain open, and
you would not be caught in a trap with the other rats.

The main ornament of the _salon_ was a neat but not gaudy
biscuit-box. The top of it was a centre-table, illuminated by a
single, guttering candle; the interior was a "combination" wardrobe