Poker with that deck would be a hazardous pursuit.
McCutcheon remarks casually that he wonders what would happen if somebody accidentally touched off those field-gun shells in the house two doors away.

We suddenly remember that they are all pointed our way! The conversation seems to lull, and Mac, for the time being, loses popularity.
Two-thirty p.m.

Looking out on the dreary little square of this town of Beaumont I note that the natives, who have been scarce enough all day, have now vanished almost entirely; whereas soldiers are noticeably more numerous than they were this morning.
Three-fifteen p.m.

Heard a big noise in the street and ran to the window in time to see about forty English prisoners passing under guard -- the first English soldiers I have seen, in this campaign, either as prisoners or otherwise.

Their tan khaki uniforms and flat caps give them a soldierly look very unlike the slovenly, sloppy-appearing French prisoners in the guardhouse; but they appear to be tremendously downcast.