War provides for those that it loves. It provides sometimes death and sometimes a singular and incredible safety. There were few ways in which it was possible to preserve Perkins. One way was by means of a steam-boiler. Perkins espied near him an old, rusty steam-boiler lying in the bushes.
War only knows how it was there, but there it was, a temple shining resplendent with safety.
With a moan of haste, Perkins flung himself through that hole which expressed the absence of the steam-pipe. Then ensconced in his boiler, Perkins comfortably listened to the ring of a fight which seemed to be in the air above him. Sometimes bullets struck their strong, swift blow against the boiler's sides, but none entered to interfere with Perkins's rest. The fight, short anyhow, dwindled to prut . And when the silence came, Perkins might have been seen cautiously protruding from the boiler.