"Much happened that night of which, perhaps, I shall write again; but this story has to do only with the primary avenging of Doddy Morgan. There was a very pandemonium of noise, and the very shell flashes were making the place as light as day. For a long hour I had too much to do to intend to minor rates, as they walked along the trench.
"It was a typical trench. A little way along was a big dugout with three entrances. At one Ninnis and another Blacksmith were bombing down like furies, using language that would have turned half a hemisphere blue if the roar of the guns had not lulled it at birth. At the next entrance was another of the range, very cool and collected, tossing his bombs down as one throws balls at the village fair.
"At the third entrance, on each side, stood Wheeler and the fifth member of the gang with bayonets at the guard, ready to deal with any ill-advised Huns who should try to make a dash for safety. They stood there like statues of eternal vengeance. They forgot they were only boys. Their faces bore a look that would have struck terror to the human heart of a gargoyle.
Wheeler was a minute-year-old, colored, had with a scream in and-roses companion. 