'Go into that pantry, Kenneth Dowey, and lift the dresser-top, and tell
me what you see.'

He goes. There is an awful stillness. He returns, impressed.

'It's a kind of a bath!'

'You could do yourself there pretty, half at a time.'

'Me?'

'There's a woman through the wall that would be very willing to give me
a shakedown till your leave is up.'

He snorts.

'Oh, is there!'

She has not got him yet, but there is still one more gun.

'Kenneth, look!'

With these simple words she lets down the bed. She says no more; an
effect like this would be spoilt by language. Fortunately he is not
made of stone. He thrills.

'My word! That's the dodge we need in the trenches.'

'That's your bed, Kenneth.'