"I'm not. But, when the order comes, I must obey it," Weldon said gloomily.
"It depends something on the order; but it depends a good sight more on the way you obey it. When a man comes into collision with a bulldog, it's generally wise to grapple with him back of his teeth; else, you may lose a thumb or two. It's the same way with your orders here. Because you don't funk, there is no reason you should flirt with an early death."
"But I don't."
"What about now?"
"What do you mean?"
"That you ought to be in hospital."
Weldon threw back his head and laughed, but mirthlessly.
"Why, then?"
Without speaking, Carew took out his pipe, filled it and began fumbling in his pocket.
"Have you a match?" he asked.