Oui, but it
leaks like a cullender." He cannot decide, and makes a really
pathetic picture of separation.
Barque watches him obliquely, and makes fun of him. We hear him say,
"Senile dodderer!" But he pauses in his chaffing to say, "After all,
if we were in his shoes we should be equally fatheaded."
Volpatte postpones his decision till later. "I'll see about it in
the morning, when I'm loading the camel's back."
After the inspection and recharging of pockets, it is the turn of
the bags, and then of the cartridge-pouches, and Barque holds forth
on the way to make the regulation two hundred cartridges go into the
three pouches. In the lump it is impossible. They must be unpacked
and placed side by side upright, head against foot. Thus can one
cram each pouch without leaving any space, and make himself a
waistband that weighs over twelve pounds.
Rifles have been cleaned already. One looks to the swathing of the
breech and the plugging of the muzzle, precautions which trench-dirt
renders indispensable.
How every rifle can easily be recognized is discussed. "I've made
some nicks in the sling. See, I've cut into the edge."
"I've twisted a bootlace round the top of the sling, and that way, I
can tell it by touch as well as seeing."
"I use a mechanical button. No mistake about that. In the dark I can
find it at once and say, 'That's my pea-shooter. Because, you know,
there are some boys that don't bother themselves; they just roll
around while the pals are cleaning theirs, and then they're devilish
quick at putting a quiet fist on a popgun that's been cleaned; and
then after they've even the cheek to go and say, 'Mon capitaine,
I've got a rifle that's a bit of all right.
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