"'Ummm—three rifle bullets; well, me lucky fellow, h'it means h'England for you.'
"H'I could 'ave blinkin' well a-kissed 'im for them words.
"Then 'e passed to the Irishman on me starboard. Bendin' over 'im 'e awsked:
"''Ow are you, me lad?'
"The Irishman, thick-like, awnswered:
"'I'm damned sick, an' I want to get out o' 'ere; I want to get out o' 'ere, out o' this draught. Ivery tin minutes they're openin' and a-shuttin' that door.'
"The doctor, winkin' 'is lamp, turned to the R.A.M.C. Sergeant, an' said:
"'Shrapnel, left foot, knee an' right breast. I see no reason why this man won't be ready for duty in a couple o' d'ys.'
"The Irishman, bloody near jumpin' over the side o' 'is cot, yelled: