Some of the men need scarcely half a minute.
It's wise to be quick at that game. Want to see
the
gas
house?"
He led us to a small unpainted shack in the centre of the field. The joints of its doors per- mitted it to be hermetically sealed. A single cylinder stood in the corner.
“What the deuce is this for?”
The youthful instructor, who ought to have been at a different sort of class himself, smiled.
"It's a splendid institution. I put every man through this at least once. Go in with him, shut the door, and turn on the gas. He knows he's getting it thicker than he ever could in the trenches. When he comes out he's got confidence in his mask. He doesn't go around mooning and scared to death about the next gas attack. It teaches him to know the difference, too, be- tween gas and phosphorous bombs and smoke pots.
We confessed our own need of preparation.
“This new gas," he said, "is terribly hard to see. If it shows at all it is like a slight mist. It's the other way around with phosphorus and smoke pots. Sergeant, bring up some of those bombs."
Again we settled ourselves in the attitudes of spectators at a game. The sergeant came up with a basket, filled with fat candles and tins of
