“Hallo, Charlie!” I exclaimed, delighted to see the familiar face of my comrade; “what are you doing here?”
“I have been in the Chestnut Hill Hospital,” was his reply, as we shook hands. “I was wounded at Fredericksburg, and am just well enough now to return to the regiment: I go to Washington to-day. What are you doing here?”
“I am staying at Haddington Hospital,” I returned, “waiting to have a Palmer leg fitted on me that is made of willow, and only weighs three ounces and a half.”
“Come and go to Washington with me,” he said, as the thought appeared to strike him. (It struck me rather forcibly about the same time, I confess.)
“I couldn’t—I—I—”
“Why couldn’t you?”
“Because I only have a pass till evening.”
“Oh, that will make no difference. They will hardly be so strict with the cripples.”
“When do you go?” I asked, thoughtfully.
“At eleven o’clock.”