He has fished out a piece of shell and tosses it to me. Apparently he is pleased at my self-control, for he now sets my leg carefully in splints and says: “Tomorrow you’ll be off home.” Then I am put in plaster. When I am back again with Kropp I tell him apparently a hospital train comes in tomorrow morning.

“We must work the army medical sergeant-major so that we can keep together, Albert.”

I manage to slip the sergeant-major two of my cigars with bellybands, and then tip the word to him. He smells the cigars and says: “Have you got any more of them?”

“Another good handful,” I say, “and my comrade,” I point to Kropp, “he has some as well. We might possibly be glad to hand them to you out of the window of the hospital train in the morning.”

He understands, of course, smells them once again and says: “Done.”