There was a large and much be-mired soldier who spraddled face downward upon his belly in one of the straw-lined dugouts with his ear hitched to a telephone.

Without lifting his head or turning it he sang out.

At that all the other men sprang up very promptly.

Before, they had been sprawled about in sunny places, smoking and sleeping, and writing on postcards.

Postcards, butter and beer--these are the German private's luxuries, but most of all postcards.