“How did this happen? Did any one see it?” asked the officer in charge of the instruction.
“It was——” began a lad who had been standing next to Ned.
“I did it!” growled out the unpleasant voice of Pug Kennedy. “But I didn’t mean to.”
“I should hope not,” commented the officer, rather sharply. “But how did it happen?”
“He leaned over and got right in my way just as I was making a lunge,” explained the fighter. “I tried to hold back my gun but it was too late.”
The officer looked sharply at Kennedy, but there seemed to be no good reason why his word should be doubted.
“Very well,” said Captain Reel, who was giving the bayonet instruction. “Only be more careful after this. Save such strokes for the Germans. We can’t afford to lose any of our soldiers. This will be all for to-day.”
Ned had been carried to the infirmary, and thither, having received permission to do so, went Bob and Jerry. They were met by an orderly who, on hearing their inquiries, told them that Ned’s wound was not at all serious, and that he would be kept in his bed only long enough to make sure there would be no infection from the steel and to enable the wound to heal slightly.
Later in the day they were allowed to see their chum. Ned was on a cot in the infirmary, and he smiled at Jerry and Bob.
“Oh, I’m not out of the game for long,” he said, in answer to their inquiries. “I’ll be a bit stiff for a day or so, the doc says, but it’ll soon wear off.”