“. . . . A dixie of stew for each company was to arrive with the machine guns at the pill box at 12.30 and then into the line. But there was a block on the corduroy—Fritz was putting salvoes onto the road and the cookers could not get past the jam at ——, so the dixies were man-handled from there across the duckboards where duckboards were and across the mud where they were not to the pill box. They arrived there at three o’clock. During the wait the innocent ‘J——,’ the Mule King, the Prince of the Packs, was roundly consigned to many kinds of torment, the dreadful possibility of going in without that stew began to haunt the strongest and the bravest. . . . . It was a process of sitting still in the dripping cover of that triumph of German architecture. Sexton House, and watching the appetite grow, assisted by some blood-curdling comments of the Doc’s.”