“Oh, excuse me. I thought maybe you might of once or twice.”
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“Oh, nothin’. Never mind. But, say, have I really got to get shot on the parapet? Won’t anything else do?”
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“A-a-ll right, then. I s’pose I got to. I’ll manage it somehow. You leave it to me. Don’t you worry.”
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“Don’t mention it. That’s all right. Anything to oblige a serious lady novelist. Good-by, Miss Willa.”
Claude was very busy for the next fifteen minutes. Just as he again took his position on the firing-step, the Hun advance began.
There they were, coming on the run. His men were on their feet again. The rifles began firing. Then something extraordinary happened. There was their commanding officer on the parapet, outlined against the Eastern sky! Stiffly erect he stood, one arm upraised, facing the oncoming foe. They heard his voice, “Steady, men! Steady! It’s up to you!”
They were amazed, astounded, but they responded. A withering fire swept the Hun lines, men were stumbling and falling. Then the solitary figure on the parapet was discovered by the enemy. A bullet rattled on the tin hat, one struck it in the shoulder. It swayed, lost its balance, plunged, face down, outside the parapet. Hicks caught a projecting foot, pulled—and it came off in his hand.