SMITHY sat on the edge of his cot and sorted his belongings. The solid black trunk that a paternal Government provided for the reception of the soldiers’ worldly possessions was wide open, and the inside of the lid was a picture gallery of cigarette pictures. “When Nobby became my bed chum,” reflected Smithy, “I had three pairs of socks—I had two new blacking brushes and a bit of scented soap—likewise a brand new shavin’ brush.”
Private Clark, stretched full length on the adjoining cot, immersed in the mysteries of an elementary French grammar (Nobby is studying for a first-class certificate) treated the insinuation with silent contempt.