"How is it? Painful now?" asked the major of Captain P——-, on the other side of the table.
"Oh, no! It's quite all right," said the captain.
"Using the sling?"
"Part of the time. Hardly need it, though."
Captain P——-was one of those men whose eyes are always smiling; who seems, wherever he is, to be glad that he is not in a worse place; who goes right on smiling at the mud in the trenches and bullets and shells and death. They are not emotional, the British, perhaps, but they are given to cheeriness, if not to laughter, and they have a way of smiling at times when smiles are much needed. The smile is more often found at the front than back at headquarters; or perhaps it is more noticeable there.
"You see, he got a bullet through the arm yesterday," the major explained. "He was reported wounded, but remained on duty in the trench." I saw that the captain would rather not have publicity given to such an ordinary incident. He did not see why people should talk about his arm. "You are to go with him into the trench for the night," the major added; and I thought myself very lucky in my companion.
"Aren't you going to have dinner with us?" the major asked him.
"Why, I had something to eat not very long ago," said Captain P——-.
One was not sure whether he had or not.
"There's plenty," said the major.
"In that event, I don't see why I shouldn't eat when I have a chance," the captain returned; which I found was a characteristic trench habit, particularly in winter when exposure to the raw, cold air calls for plenty of body-furnace heat.