But Gordon continued to look at him doubtfully.
“Move your desk across the tent for the present, anyhow,” said he, “and I’ll speak to the doctor myself. With all this newspaper hullabaloo about our neglect of the sick,” continued he, turning to his friends, “if a man changes color at sight of a smash-up he must be turned over to the Red Cross at once. What is it, orderly?” he finished suddenly, as the tent flaps parted and a soldier in complete uniform, girt with his belt of glistening cartridges, stood at salute, some visiting cards in his gloved hand.
“Lieutenant Gray here, sir?” was the comprehensive answer. Then, catching sight of the young officer who stepped quickly forward, he held forth the cards.
“The adjutant-general’s compliments, sir, and he’d be glad if the lieutenant would come over at once.”
Gray took the cards, curiously studied them and then read aloud, one after the other, and placing the topmost underneath the other two as soon as read.
| “Mr. Lispenard Prime.” “Miss Prime.” “Miss Amy Lawrence.” |
It was the last name that lay uppermost at the end, receiving particular attention, and the Parson noted it.
“That’s the pretty cousin, Billy,” quoth he. “Case of the last shall be first, don’t you see? Scoot now, you lucky boy, and tell us all about it later.”
But Gray was still gazing dreamily at the cards.