“Ah! that is what it means! So you were once a patient of mine. I hope I served you well, to cause you to remember me so long!” and the hermit patted Perk on the shoulder in what seemed to be a very friendly way.
“Hot ziggetty dog! I’m sayin’ you did, Doc—looky here and see how the things healed up,” and as he said this, Perk rolled up his sleeve, exhibiting a stout arm marked by a series of red lines zigzagging here and there and giving evidence of being a reminder of a most serious wound.
The hermit looked and nodded his head.
“Rather a tough proposition it must have been,” he remarked with a show of interest.
“You jest bet it was!” vociferated Perk. “That bally English doctor wanted to take the arm off—said it’d save my life, but what use would life be to a birdman with only one arm? Then you came along and done the trick, Doc. Never could forget what I owed you. Finest operation ever done on that line, the American surgeon said afterwards.”
“Ah! very kind of him, I am sure,” said Perk’s companion, obviously appreciating the implied compliment, “and would you mind telling me just where, and under what conditions all this happened? It may assist me to remember the particular instance out of the hundreds I handled?”
“In the Argonne, Doc—I came down in flames after sendin’ two out o’ four Heinies ahead o’ me. ’Member you told me my mother had ought to feel proud o’ her boy—which she sure was, Doc. Course it couldn’t hardly be ’spected you’d ’member me, but I guessed I’d keep think-in’ ’bout you as long as I lived. An’ to think we’d run up agin each other like this—it certainly is a small world, as I’ve said before.”
“While I don’t happen to remember the particular circumstance, my friend,” the other went on warmly, “it’s a pleasure to know that you did pull through with both arms and have apparently continued to ply your dangerous, if glorious calling ever since. Shake hands with me, will you? I’m proud to renew our acquaintance and it comes at a turning point in my life also.”
He glanced affectionately at Buddy lying there on his cot with the girl hovering over him, smoothing the blanket as only a woman can and lavishing looks of adoration on her hero pilot.
“For years I have been mourning the fact that after being shell-shocked on the battle line during the closing month of the war, I had lost my touch for my vocation; for a surgeon depends a great deal on his hands for the success of his delicate operations. Then he came into my life as though dropping down from heaven itself. The necessity for immediately handling his injuries started me back into the old rut again and I was thrilled to discover that my finger-tips were as sensitive as ever. Then I realized that since God was so good as to restore to me that which I feared had been lost forever, it would be wicked for me to remain shut up away from my fellows when so many suffering people were holding out their hands to me for aid. My prayer had been heard and I have resolved to go back once more to labor in the field that can never have an over supply of workers.”