He whispered to me, "Reg, I can't get that out of
my head." "What's that?" I asked.
"Fritz has my number; my time's nearly up and I know it." "Oh, hell!" I
exclaimed, with a good-natured impatience, and giving him a poke in the
ribs, "Forget it!"
The rest of the fellows chimed in with recollections of several fellows
who persisted in saying that their number was up, and who were now
pushing poppies, and the little Cockney murmured, "The poor beggars, and
if they had kept their mouths shut they'd 'ave been with us yet."
It is a strange philosophy, but it is prevalent up and down the line.
At that moment the mail arrived, and Billy forgot his premonition for
the time, for along with letters from his mother and sister, there was a
photograph from his sweetheart that he showed me with suppressed joy.
"I say, fellows, what do you think of that for good time," said one, "my
letters were both mailed on the 13th and this is only the 29th."
"That's a rum go," says the Cockney, "mine, too, was mailed on the
13th."
An examination of the mailing dates of our letters revealed the somewhat
startling coincidence that every single letter we got that night had
been mailed on the 13th.
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