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 *tory we had won—complete, annihilating—and of this Armistice which had ended the war and made them sure of life. Some of them were a little drunk with wine, but not enough at this hour to spoil their sense of joy.

Officers rose at various tables to make speeches, cheered by their own groups, who laughed and shouted and did not listen.

"The good old British Army has done the trick at last"

"The old Hun is down and out."

"Gentlemen, it has been a damned tough job"

Another group had burst into song.

"Here's to good old beer, put it down, put it down!"

"The cavalry came into its own in the last lap. We've fought mounted, and fought dismounted. We've rounded up innumerable Huns. We've ridden down machine-guns"

Another group was singing independently:

"There's a long, long trail a-winding   To the land of my dreams."

A toast was being pledged at the next table by a Tank officer who stood on a chair, with a glass of champagne raised high above his head:

"Gentlemen, I give you the toast of the Tank Corps. This war was won by the Tanks"

"Pull him down!" shouted two lads at the same table. "Tanks be damned! It was the poor old bloody infantry, all the time."

One of them pulled down the little Tank officer with a crash, and stood on his own chair.

"Here's to the foot-sloggers—the infantry battalions, Tommy Atkins and his company officer, who did all the dirty work, and got none of the kudos, and did most of the dying."