“But, Doctor, suppose he comes to and asks for me? You are sure that he can’t get well?”
The doctor assented by a nod. “He cannot recover,” was his brief remark, uttered more feelingly than usual with this man of long, hard experience. Then he added with his usual attention to duty on his mind:
“He may become conscious later on. I’ll let you know. After you get your car and bring in the next bunch you must run down to your base and report. They must assign you another helper. I have sent your description of the German signal man to headquarters and to the P. C. at the front of the woods section—I think they’ll get him. And I’ll send a note by you, telling what good work you did.”
With the idea uppermost that it was his first duty to play the part of a good soldier in the work he had enlisted to do, Don got up to join the army ambulance. Two hours later, in his own car and at its best speed, he was returning from the Red Cross base. The man beside him began to think himself most unlucky to have been assigned to duty with this dare-devil of a driver, who spoke hardly a word and seemed not to care if they were presently piled in a heap and both killed. Around, past and in between lorries, trucks, ambulances, big guns being hauled to the front and marching men they dashed. When the evacuation hospital was again reached the young driver left the car with but a word to the new man, requesting him to wait, and was gone a long half hour.
“He has asked for you,” said the nurse to Don. “His mind seems to be clear and he is not suffering, but the shock was too great. It has caused some immediate heart trouble and with the loss of blood—the Major can explain. Go right over and speak to the poor boy.”
Don did so, almost in despair, but he was determined not to show it. Billy must get well; if there was anything in his thinking so, then he must be given every chance. And so Don met his pal with a smile.
“Hello, Billy! Feeling better? Soon be all right, I—”
“No, no! Don, the—nurse told me all about it, what you did and what you did for me, too. Don—we—we have only known each other—how long, Don?”
“Why, three whole days, Billy. But we’ll know each other al—-”
“Listen, Don. I know. Don’t try to fool me. No use. West—I’m going—West. Pretty soon, too. A message, to my father and mother and brother, Don. Will you write it? I got the nurse to write this to introduce you to them, and to bid them good-bye. Then I only want you to write him a letter about me—a little. Can you tell them, Don, that I was not a coward—that I was not very much afraid that—I tried to do my duty? Don’t tell them a lie—but—but if you could truthfully say something like that it will please them. Do you understand?”