two silent bodies, 'Erb stopped and bent over Sergeant Legros, remarking: "Knows 'ow ter lie doggo, don't 'e—the ol' cunnin'-chops?" He fell silent a moment, and then in a very different voice ejaculated, "Gawds-treuth 'e's mort, 'e is. 'E's tué."
John Bull and Reginald Rupert looked at each other, and then turned back quietly to where the Sergeant was lying.
"Cerebral hemorrhage," suggested John Bull. "I struck him on the side of the head."
"’Eart failure," suggested 'Erb. "I set on 'is 'ead till 'is 'eart stopped, blimey!"
"Apple Plexy, I opine," put in the Bucking Bronco. "All comes o' gittin' excited, don't it?"
"He certainly made himself perfectly miserable when I took his bayonet away," admitted Legionary Rupert.
"Anyhow, it's a fair swingin' job nah, wotever it was afore," said 'Erb. Whatever the cause and whosesoever the hand, Sergeant Legros was undoubtedly dead. They removed the belts, straightened his limbs, closed his eyes and 'Erb placed the dead man's képi over the face, bursting as he did so into semi-hysterical song—
"Ours is a 'appy little 'ome,
I wisht I was a kipper on the foam,
There's no carpet on the door,
There's no knocker on the floor,
Oo! Ours is a 'appy little 'ome."
"Shut that damned row," said Legionary Rupert.
"Carmelita, honey," said the Bucking Bronco, stroking the hair of the weeping girl. "Yew got the brains. Wot'll we do? Shall we stop an' look arter
