It wasn't a _h_ouse, Jerry, I wish you to understand; it was merely a
little 'ouse standing in its own grounds like, with a brace or so of
chickens and a few mangel-wurzels a-climbin' round the place. You know
what it's like.
Well, Major Jones, who had been my guest several times in this little
'ouse of mine, came round a few days ago with a worried look and an
orderly.
"I want you to come and look at my telephone," he said hurriedly.
"What is it? Is anything wrong?" I asked sympathetically.
"I fear the worst. Something terrible may happen in five minutes," he
replied darkly.
I gripped his hand silently, and he returned the pressure with
emotion. In silence we walked the two hundred yards which lay between
my place and his observation post, and I watched while his orderly got
busy with the telephone.
"Is Number One gun ready?" demanded the Major.
It appeared that Number One was itching to be at it.
"Fire!" said the Major.
"Fire!" said the orderly.
A moment later there was a terrific explosion.
"Number One fired, Sir," observed the orderly.
"It is well you told us," I said sweetly, "otherwise I could never
have believed it."
But the Major heeded me not. He was staring over my shoulder.
"Good shot, by Jove!" he yelled. "A perfect beauty! Holed out in one!"
I turned to see what had caused his sudden joy. But where was my
little 'ouse? Had _it_ suddenly turned into that nasty cloud of dust?
Even as I looked my water-bucket reached the ground again.
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