"'Dooty, how in the 'ell can I do dooty when I cawn't blinkin' well walk?'
"The doctor answered:
"'That'll be all right, me lad. We'll fix you h'up with a cushy job at Brigade 'Eadquarters, a-poundin' a typewriter.'
"The Irishman, with a moan of disgust, addressin' nobody in particular, sighed:
"'Out since Mons, an' h'I h'end up with workin' a bloody typewriter at 'Eadquarters. Stick me in skirts an' I'll go as a manicurist.'
"The doctor went to the next case an' soon left the ward.
"As soon as the door closed, a string of oaths came from the Irishman:
"'Poundin' a —— —— typewriter at 'Eadquarters; just like the bloody British h'Army; what in 'ell do I know about one o' those writin'-machines? Just me luck. Why couldn't that shell 'ave 'it me in the 'ands? But, I s'pose, if I'd a' lost me bloody 'ands they'd myke a tight-rope walker out o' me.'
"Awfter a bit 'e sorter cooled down, an' to keep conversation a-goin', I awsked 'im, sort o' innocent-like: