“Do you know him?” asked Mrs. Gordon, surprised.
“Sure I do. I took over this bus full of stuff for the aero field only last week. Lieutenant Gordon checked off my list, and when he got through he nodded to me and says, ‘Good work, Adams. You really brought everything you were supposed to. How did it happen?’ I had to laugh at that, Ma’am, because the truth was I did forget a bundle of wire, and the Sergeant called me back for it.”
Bob’s mother tried to smile at the soldier’s story, though the remembrance of Bob’s health and cheerfulness was small comfort now. But she had controlled herself, dreading to become ill and useless at the end of her journey if she yielded longer to her fears. She straightened up resolutely against the hard seat and in a moment answered the man’s kindly encouragement by saying, “Oh, I have good hope that he is not seriously wounded. What part of the United States are you from, Adams? Where is your home?”
It was hard to interest herself in the account the Yankee willingly poured forth, but nevertheless she managed it. In return, the time passed more quickly for her, and her nerves grew steadier.
It was about a quarter past twelve when at last they entered Cantigny. It seemed a whole day to Mrs. Gordon that she had sat enveloped in the dust of that endless road, but on the whole the journey had been a quick one. She turned to the soldier with brief thanks and farewell, as they drew up at the steps of the house made into a hospital. An officer appeared in the doorway and Mrs. Gordon, summoning all her reserves of courage, in case she should have to hear the worst, asked hurriedly:
“Lieutenant Gordon, Captain? How is he? I am his mother.”
She never afterward forgot the smile with which the surgeon promptly answered, “You may stop worrying right now, Mrs. Gordon. Your son had a bullet through his shoulder muscle; but what’s that to a strong young man?”
Not until that moment did Mrs. Gordon realize the dread she had endured. Now that the fear was lifted from her heart, she leaned weakly against the doorway, tears blinding her eyes, and hardly knew that the surgeon had taken her arm and was urging her to follow him. But the next minute she was herself again, strengthened by her longing to see with her own eyes that Bob was safe. The surgeon led her into a good-sized room made into a ward, which could accommodate about twenty wounded officers.
He had no need to point Bob out to his mother. In a second she was beside him. He was leaning against his pillows with one arm and shoulder closely bandaged, but his face was not pale nor his bright smile changed as he cried out at sight of her:
“Mother! I knew you’d come! Oh, I’m afraid you’ve been dreadfully anxious.”