II.
The wounded soldier lay in his deck-chair placidly smoking his hundredth cigarette that day. He was not naturally a smoker, but cigarettes arrived in enormous numbers and something had to be done with them.
His visitor sat beside him, note-book in hand. "Yes?" he remarked.
"And then," said the soldier, "came the order to charge. We fixed bayonets and rushed at the Bosches like mad. It was glorious—like the best kind of football match."
The visitor took it all down, and more.
"I remember bayonetting two men," said the soldier, "and then I remember nothing else. And that's six months ago. Still, I'm getting well, and then there's only one thing on earth that I really want with a passionate desire ..."
"I know! I know!" said the visitor, moistening his pencil.
"Never to see any more war as long as I live," the soldier continued.