Of comedies arising out of Mr. Atkins's imperturbable phlegm there is
no end. One will suffice here--a little incident which occurred at
Salonica. At the Greek port some of our troops, it seems, are encamped
upon the hills above the town. One morning a covey of six enemy
aeroplanes flew overhead and dropped three bombs in passing. The first
exploded harmlessly, but the second fell plumb on a cook's tent, and
blew it sky-high. Shirts, coats, and trousers went hurtling up into
the air with a grim resemblance to mutilated bodies. Fortunately no
one was inside the tent. The cook was only five yards away, however,
busily marshalling an array of "dixies" (military camp-kettles) which
had been newly filled at the distant water-supply below. The force of
the explosion blew him off his feet, and likewise overturned the row of
dixies.
Those near at hand feared their comrade had been hit by a fragment
of the bomb and ran to his assistance. But as they approached a
dishevelled figure rose from amidst the _débris_ and wrathfully
surveyed the wreckage of his "kitchen." At the spot where his tent
had been two minutes previously he hardly glanced. "And now," was his
indignant comment, "I serpose I'll 'ave to go down the ---- 'ill and
fill up the ---- dixies again!"