a new man smile as he pointed to the entrance of
an officer's dug-out.
"Like a peep at the palace?"
The pride behind his smile was perplexing. We followed him down half a dozen steps into a small chamber of an uncommon neatness. The walls were boarded and adorned with racy pictures torn from a French weekly. There was, moreover, a cot bed, a deal table, and a stove.
Foreseeing at least a general, we searched for him in the dusk of the corners. Two young subalterns, however, alone greeted us, and we recalled that generals don't go to the trenches if their staffs can keep them out. Some one congratulated the subalterns on their stove.
One of the youths patted it as if it had been a pet.
"It is a comfort on a cold morning, and it's often quite cold even this time of year."
He, too, let slip a little of that prideful air. We chorused a demand for its source. The man who had brought us in waved his hand.
“You see, when he was on this front, this was the home for several nights of the Prince of Wales."
In a mournful tone a hope was expressed that during those days the racy pictures of scantily draped femininity had not decorated the walls.
