"Do," said Six-foot-two. "When do you expect to leave?"
"I can't say," replied Ginger. "There's no knowing. You see mine's a very extraordinary case." He smiled complacently.
"That's funny. So's mine," said Six-foot-two.
"How do you mean—extraordinary?" the other asked a little sharply.
"Why, the doctors have had so much difficulty with it. It's a unique, they say. How many operations did you have?"
"How many did you have?" Ginger replied, with the caution of the challenged.
"Go on—I asked you first," said Six-foot-two. "Was it more than eight, anyway?"
"It was ten," said Ginger.
"Well, I had eleven," said Six-foot-two proudly. "They went after those bullets eleven times. But they're all out now. I had every doctor in the place round me."
"So did I," said Ginger, "and one of my bullets isn't out yet. It's right in the bone. They're going to try again soon." He had quite recovered his good-humour.