Page:The Best continental short stories of and the yearbook of the continental short story 1924-25.pdf/82

 road, a grenade had violently burst. Pebbles fell all about us, and the sergeant grew pale. His beard was shaken like a forest through which a horde of frightened wild boars are racing.

“Why—it’s a mistake! You know very well that it can’t stop all at once over the whole front! Wait! We’ll try the telephone. You’re crazy! It’s all over! You’ll see there’ll be no more firing!” But they did fire, just the same. Above our heads they built a regular cupola made of resounding arches. We proved it, as we cautiously beat a retreat. And when at last, breathless, and running as hard as we could, we gained a bend in the road and were safe, we stopped to draw breath, and the sergeant tore in shreds his splendid vision, in a single cry of pain.

“The devil! One time—one time or another it’s got to end! Got anything left to drink in your thing-a-majig? Give me a swallow. I’ve emptied mine!”