“Yes, Morley,” said the Major sharply; “and no one’s more glad than I am. But you needn’t tell us all about it quite so often.”
The Doctor chuckled, for in spite of the terrible demands that were made upon him he was generally in pretty good spirits.
“Well, I won’t say any more about it, but you military men, who get all the honour and glory, might let your poor doctor have a little bit of praise.”
“Well, what’s to be done? We must have a couple or more sacks of that Indian meal from the store to-day. We cannot sit here and starve. And at the same time more of the necessaries of life, or what we have in time come to consider necessaries, must be obtained for the women and children.”
“Yes,” said the Doctor. “My hands are full with dealing with the wounded. I can’t have the poor, starving women coming into hospital to be treated for exhaustion, and the children upon my hands dying like flies.”
“No,” said the Major; “we must call for volunteers, Sir Charles, to cut our way through the enemy to the store.”
“No, no,” said the Doctor; “I forbid that.”
“Why?” said the Major angrily.
“Because it means half-a-dozen or a dozen more wounded men to crowd my hospital.”
“Hah!” ejaculated the Major. “And I can’t spare one.”