“Is that so?” he said. “Well, you see most of them turned out badly, but there was one that I found in my kit when I got out to the Islands, and sometimes I used to carry it about in a card-case.” (He put his hand where the left breast-pocket would have been in a khaki blouse.) “In fact, I rather got into the habit of carrying it, as one gets into the habit of carrying a bunch of keys that don’t unlock anything, or a pocket piece. Besides, when it was hot up-country, it was refreshing to have a look at the cool lake and all you people in the boat. Well, when I was hit the bullet came through the left breast-pocket.”
“And went through the picture?” she said.
“That was the funny part of it,” he answered. “When we started on this particular hike—”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“They call any expedition or march a hike.”
“Go on,” she said.
“Well, when we started I took a blouse along, although one generally hikes in a blue shirt like the men.” He paused and she looked at him inquiringly. “But you see,” he went on, “I wore a soiled blouse and carelessly left the card-case at my quarters in a clean one.”
She looked at him with a perplexed expression. “Then the bullet didn’t go through the picture?” she said.
“No, that was the joke on the bullet. Instead of having the picture in my pocket what do you suppose I did have?”
She thought for a moment. “A locket,” she suggested, “or a prayer-book.”