Part 20 (1/2)

Drat the woman, she had spoiled his last joke!

He strove to explain. But the fumes were clutching at his senses, and he could not. The white walls of the room swam and bounced before his eyes.

Rivers were pouring into his ears. Everything was grey and vibrating. He made a frantic effort to turn his thoughts towards G.o.d and home, ”in case.” But he failed to think of anything.

With a jerk his senses left him.

When he recovered his senses it was still dark, but he realised that he was in another room.

And in that room he stayed for nearly a fortnight before the Doctor would allow him to proceed to the Base.

As regards the paralysis, there was little or no improvement, although he thought at one time that he was succeeding in wagging his big toe.

The Doctor would come in and say with mock petulance, ”Surely you can move that finger now. Pull yourself together! Make an effort!”

He used to make tremendous efforts. Even his left hand used to twitch with the effort of trying to move the right.

”No, not your left; the right,” the Doctor would say.

Then he would laugh, and go away saying that it would be all right in time.

His chief difficulty, not counting, of course, the perpetual headache, was his inability to sleep. The nights seemed interminable, and he dreaded them. The days were only less so because of the excitement of meals and being talked to by the Sister. They became fast friends, and she would tell him all about her work, her troubles with the Doctors and with refractory Orderlies. They used to laugh together over the short temper of a patient below, whom she used to call ”Old Fiddlesticks,” and who seemed to be the most impatient of patients. Then she would wander on about her home, how she nursed half the year, and spent the remainder with her married sister in Fondborough Manor.

One day one of the Orderlies shaved him, and every one was surprised ”to see how much better he looked!”

They used to give him aspirin, and though it generally failed to bring sleep, his pains would be relieved almost instantly, and his spirits would rise to tremendous heights. The only time he was able to sleep seemed to be between six and ten. He was nearly always awakened by the l.u.s.ty voice of a peasant entering the room beneath. He complained to the Orderly, with the result that the next night the l.u.s.ty voice was suddenly silenced.

”Shut yer mouth, or I'll knock yer blinking face in!” And l.u.s.ty Voice understood.

At last the Doctor gave his consent for removal to the Base Hospital, and the Subaltern found himself being once more hauled on to a stretcher and heaved into the Ambulance.

They dragged him out at the station, and he saw the long train, each carriage brilliantly lit. The sight seemed so civilised that it cheered him not a little.

The carriage was an ordinary ”wagon-lit” converted with considerable ingenuity into a Hospital Train. He shared his compartment with a young Guardee, ”a sitting case.”

He had no sooner settled down than a voice was heard calling for ”Second-Lieutenant Hackett.”

”Here,” replied the Guardee, without any enthusiasm.

A dapper Staff Officer, so tall that he had to stoop to enter the compartment, drew a paper from his pocket.

”You?” he asked. ”Well, Hackett, this is a great evening in your life, and I congratulate you.” He shook the Guardee's left hand. ”You have been given the D.S.O.,” he added hurriedly, for the train had already begun to move. With that he disappeared.

It was not until the following morning that the Sister came in to dress his wound.

”What strong teeth you've got, boy!” she said.

n.o.body knew better than he did that his teeth were large and tended to protrude, but it is always annoying to have one's defects admired.