“Yes, sir.”
“What's his number?”
“I've lost three, sir; there's only his brother Stanley now.”
“One a year?”
“No, Sir. I missed two years in the war, of course.”
“Hughs wounded out there?”
“Yes, sir—in the head.”
“Ah! And fever?”
“Yes, Sir.”
Martin tapped his pipe against his forehead. “Least drop of liquor goes to it, I suppose?”