“You’ve got me, comrade—” the Lieutenant began, eyeing the speaker narrowly for a moment, his brows set in a puzzled wrinkle as the other grinned at the very idea of not being recognized by an old friend and classmate. Herbert, in turn, suddenly grabbed him, seizing him by the shoulders and chuckling with real delight.
“Don—Don Richards, by the wild, whistling wizard! You boy! Glory, but I’m glad to see you! But say, man——”
“Say it—that I’ve changed a bit. Must have for you not to have known me.” Don fell into step with Herbert.
“Yes, you have indeed! Sun-dyed like a pirate and older, somehow. But I knew that grin. The great thing about it is that you’re alive and looking fit as a fiddle. Why, man, we heard you’d been wounded past recovery—hit with a shrapnel.”
“Shrapnel all right, but it was uncommonly kind to me. Piece just went through my left shoulder and now it’s only a little stiff at times. Clem Stapley and I were together out there beyond Bouresches; the Belleau Wood scrap. He was hurt badly and I was trying to bring him in.” Don spoke mere facts; not with boastfulness.
“Red Cross work; we heard that, too. Clem pulled through; didn’t he?” the lieutenant questioned.
“Yes, just, but he won’t be good enough to join in again. Went back home last ship, three days ago. I didn’t go because Major Little came after me to serve again.”
“Why don’t you?”
“Well, I guess I ought to. It’s got under my skin, but I’d like to get a glimpse of the good old U. S. Came off this boat; didn’t you? Don asked.”