The certificates were finally handed to them, and, going to their rooms, they sadly packed up the few things which had accumulated. As they passed out and marched down between the rows of cots, with the packages on their backs, every patient greeted them. The history of the boys had reached every one long before this time, so they were not permitted to go without the usual wishes.
"Sorry to see you go, but glad you are good as ever!" "Give them fits this time;" "Send the Boches my compliments," said another. "Where are you bound for this time?" cried a voice, from across the room. Every remark, in fact, indicating that they were expected to return to the fighting line.
The emotions awakened by the greetings and the good wishes were too deep to dispel the idea. They could not, in the presence of the enthusiastic men all about them, say that they had enough of the fighting game, as every one called it. It made them feel as though something was wrong, and as they neared the door they almost made a bound for it.
As they walked down the steps, Ralph looked at Alfred with a peculiar expression on his face. Alfred turned away, but suddenly wheeled around.
"Well, are we going back?" he asked with startling suddenness.
"I felt awfully sheepish; didn't you?" asked Ralph.
"No; I felt like a coward. Now when I think of it I don't remember of a single fellow who left the hospital since we have been here who ever suggested that he wasn't going back," replied Alfred.
"That's a fact; well, I'm going back, but not, in the airship service," said Ralph. "No; I couldn't do that; anything but flying."
"Hello!" cried a voice behind them. "Out for good, are you? Well, sorry to lose you; we have a very polite way of bidding our patients good-bye, and I suppose I shall have to spring it on you."
"What is that?" asked Ralph.