“What do you think, Greyson?” said Bob, as the surgeon and Miller moved Alan’s cot a scant foot nearer to the stove. “This is Captain Alan Leslie and my cousin.”
Major Greyson looked quickly at Bob, with so evident a search for signs of feverish excitement that Bob could not help laughing.
“I’m not out of my head, Greyson,” he declared. “He is my cousin, really.”
“Why, you told me you’d never seen him,” protested the surgeon.
“He hadn’t. This is our first meeting. Can’t call it auspicious, can one, Major?” said Alan, basking in the faint warmth that reached him. He gave another look toward Androvsky. “Rather a horrid lot of patients you have here, Major, excepting Bob.”
Major Greyson smiled as he sat down by Alan’s cot. “You seem pretty cheerful, Captain Leslie, but that foot of yours must be hurting quite a bit.”
“Oh, rather. I suppose it can’t be helped,” said Alan coolly. “It’s better than when I first woke.”
“We’ll see what can be done.” Major Greyson turned to the Russian who was moving on his cot. “Androvsky, you awake? Miller will wheel you about a little.”
“Thank you, Gospodin Major,” said the Russian, sitting up.
Bob’s thoughts, turned once more to Androvsky, led him to inquire again of Alan, when the Russian had gone out and Major Greyson was examining the Britisher’s foot, “Didn’t you see any Germans in the Bolshevik lines, Alan? Couldn’t you guess anything about what they’re up to?”