"It's almost a cert you get hit," he said, "even if you crawl out. He's got a bit of cover and he's making more, fast. I think—"
A voice behind interrupted, and Everton and the Sergeant turned to find the Captain looking up at them.
"What's this?" he repeated, and the Sergeant explained the position.
"Go ahead!" said the Captain. "Get him in if you can, and good luck to you."
Everton wanted no more. Two minutes later he was out of the trench and racing back across the open.
"Come on, Halliday," he said. "I'll give you a hoist in. Where are you hit?"
"Leg and arm," said Halliday briefly; and then, rather ungraciously, "You're a fool to be out here; but I suppose now you're here, you might as well give me a hand in."
But he spoke differently after Everton had given him a hand, had lifted him and carried him, and so brought him back to the trench and lowered him into waiting hands. His wounds were bandaged and, before he was carried off, he spoke to Everton.
"Good-by, Toffee," he said and held out his left hand, "I owe you a heap. And look here—-" He hesitated a moment and then spoke in tones so low that Everton had to bend over the stretcher to hear him. "My leg's smashed bad, and I'm done for the Front and the old Hotwaters. I wouldn't like it to get about—I don't want the others to think—to know about me feeling—well, like I told you back there before the charge."
Toffee grabbed the uninjured-hand hard. "You old frost!" he said gayly, "there's no need to keep it up any longer now; but I don't mind telling you, old man, you fairly hoaxed me that time, and actually I believed what you were saying. 'Course, I know better now; but I'll punch the head off any man that ever whispers a word against you."