Mr. Boyle having stated his business, the doctor became excited and summoned me to leave the hiding-place and join him openly in the consulting-room.
"This chap," he explained, "is John Boyle, who was blown up with other employed objects at the cordite works, and who is still alive. If you are a real journalist you will get 'copy' out of him."
I took Mr. Boyle by the hand and I said to him—
"You have had an awful experience, old chap. My God, you have lived through an awful thing."
Mr. Boyle said: "I believe you, guv'nor. Now this is a funny thing, ain't it. I was 'it on the leg by somethink; and whatever it was, it went right through me trouser but never 'urt the sock. Funny thing, that, ain't it?"
"Quite extraordinary," I admitted. "All the other poor chaps in your shop are dead, aren't they?"
"Twelve chaps and four females; all dead," admitted Mr. Boyle. "Funny thing, wasn't it? Right through me trouser and never touched the sock!"
"Eighty injured from the other shops!" I reflected. "What did you think—how did you feel, when—when you realised it all?"
"I never thought much abaht it," responded Mr. Boyle. "Me leg was 'urtin'."
"It isn't a matter one need encourage him to think about," suggested the doctor.