HE was the "old sweat" of the section, never at a loss.
Just before the C.O. reached him at inspection a young wag hung an old door handle on the top of his bayonet. The eagle eye spotted it. "What is this?"
The old hand surveyed it, and then the grinning faces; and at once got into his stride.
"Well, sir, it's a souvenir of the last war. We had been retreating for three days and had nothing to eat or drink. On the fourth morning we spied a village. The first house was a pub. I reached it first and grabbed the door handle—this handle—and at that moment a thundering great shell blew the pub out of my hands."
Text read from the printed page and cleaned; old type leaves the occasional error.