"THERE YOU ARE! NOT A LAUGH! THIS IS WOT COMES
OF YOUR 'FUNNY WITHOUT BEIN' VULGAR'!"]
* * * * *
OUR BIVVIE.
"Not a bad possie," said George, looking round the village. "Let's
rustle a bivvie before the crowd comes along."
All George's performances in the art of rustling bivvies rank as star.
He permits no coarse and obvious gathering of an expectant horde about
the opening door; no slacking of straps and bootlaces until the final
"I will" is said on either side. He debouches in extended order on
the doomed house; gets his range and has the barrage well in hand (the
quantity and quality of Madame's gesticulations furnish the key to
this) before Colin drifts off the horizon and shows a peaked face with
haunting eyes over George's shoulder. Colin does not speak. That is
not his _metier_. He is the star shell illuminating the position; and
usually in about six minutes' time it is safe for John to put in an
appearance with the kit.
This is the recognised procedure, and it has served us indifferently
well up and down three years of war and a good deal of France and
Flanders.
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