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Sea!'5 I remarked, looking up from the Daily Mail
which was making the most of that historic event. (It
seemed a long time since I rode past his park wall in
Kent when I was with the Yeomanry; it would be
two years next September, though it wasn't much
use looking as far ahead as that, with all these prepar-
ations going on for the "Big Push".) Barton was
scribbling away with his indelible pencil—filling in all
that bosh which made Brigade think they were busy.
"If you want my opinion/' he grumbled, "I believe
those damned Irish had a hand in Kitchener being
drowned. I'd like to see that fatuous island of theirs
sunk under the sea." Barton had an irrational dislike
of the Irish, and he always blamed anything on them
if he could. He wouldn't even admit that Ireland
was an agricultural country, and since the Easter
Rebellion in Dublin it wasn't safe to show him a
bottle of Irish whisky. "I've never met an Irishman
with any more sense than that mouse!*5 he exclaimed.
A mouse was standing on its head in the sugar basin,
which was made of metal and contained soft sugar.
He eyed the mouse morosely, as though accusing it of
Irish ancestry. "This time three nights ago my wife
and I were having dinner at the Cafe Royal. Up-
stairs at the Cafe Royal—best food in London, and as
good as ever even now. I tell you, Kangar, it's too
much of a bloody contrast, coming back to all this.'*
There was a muffled "Wump" and both candles went
out. Something heavy had burst outside our door.
Lighting the candles, I thought I'd just as soon be up-
stairs as down in this musty limbo. In about an hour
I should be out with the wiring-party, dumping con-
certina wire in the shell-holes along the edge of the
craters. I wondered if I should ever get a Blighty
wound. One of our best officers had been hit last