' I'm not on in that act.
It's the D system, my old wonder--a damned dirty dodge, and there
are times when I'm fed up with it, and more."
And thus, though their rifles are all alike, they are as different
as their handwriting.
* * * * * *
"It's curious and funny," says Marthereau to me "we're going up to
the trenches to-morrow, and there's nobody drunk yet, nor that way
inclined. Ah, I don't say," he concedes at once, "but what those two
there aren't a bit fresh, nor a little elevated; without being
absolutely blind, they're somewhat boozed, pr'aps--"
"It's Poitron and Poilpot, of Broyer's squad."
They are lying down and talking in a low voice. We can make out the
round nose of one, which stands out equally with his mouth, close by
a candle, and with his hand, whose lifted finger makes little
explanatory signs, faithfully followed by the shadow it casts.
"I know how to light a fire, but I don't know how to light it again
when it's gone out," declares Poitron.
"Ass!" says Poilpot, "if you know how to light it you know how to
relight it, seeing that if you light it, it's because it's gone out,
and you might say that you're relighting it when you're lighting
it."
"That's all rot. I'm not mathematical, and to hell with the
gibberish you talk. I tell you and I tell you again that when it
comes to lighting a fire, I'm there, but to light it again when it's
gone out, I'm no good. I can't speak any straighter than that.
Pages:
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237