The Doctor In A Fantigue.
Drummond returned to the hospital with his glass, and, to Mrs Sergeant Gee’s disgust, installed himself in the window and sat for a couple of hours lightening the painful monotony of Bracy’s imprisonment by scanning the movements of the distant enemy hovering about in the hills, and making comments thereon.
“Ah,” he said at last, “what we want here is a company of gunners, with light howitzers to throw shells a tremendous distance. If we could have that cleverly and accurately done, we could soon scatter the beggars; but as it is—”
“Yes, as it is,” said Bracy peevishly, “we have no gunners and no howitzers; and if we had, how could they be dragged about among these hills?”
“It would be difficult,” said Drummond. “There are some fellows crawling out of that west ravine now. Wait till I’ve focussed them, and—”
“No, no; don’t do any more to-day,” cried Bracy. “I can’t bear it. You only make me fretful because I can’t be about doing something again.”
“Of course it does; but what is it, old fellow? Are you in pain?”
“Pain? I’m in agony, Drummond. I can’t sit up, for I seem to have no power; and I can’t lie still, because I feel as if there; was something red-hot burning through my spine.”
“Poor old chap! I say—think the bullet is still there?”
“No, no; it passed right through.”