He turned to the acting clerk.
"Write this man an indefinite furlough."
I nearly forgot to keep my look of agony in my delight, for that meant at least a month.
"You must report every day to the hospital there."
"All right, sir." (I just went once to square it with the matron, whom I knew.)
In my excitement and joy I was almost out of the room before I remembered I was a very sick man. However, the day was saved by a really marvelous yell of pain I managed to emit as I was crutching out of the door.
FEELING GOOD IN BLIGHTY.
My journey home was one long series of examples of the treatment of the women of England to their fighting men. I had to make two changes of trains and on both occasions I was literally carried by those tireless women from one train to the other. Nothing but the most luxurious traveling was good enough for me. In fact, I really was ashamed of myself, for the little sacrifice I had made was a drop in the ocean compared to that of many men in all parts of the land.