“I had none to send, my son. It was lost.”
“And the rifle, too, father?” asked Billy.
“The rifle, too.”
“But what about the uniform?”
“Well, it was, as you thought, torn and worn from service. The Russians gave me a new one.”
“What!” cried Billy, in horror, “a Russian uniform!”
Mr. Kurukawa smiled.
“Hardly that, my boy. You see a sick man on a stretcher usually wears a—er—-nightie—isn’t that what they call it?”
“Oh-h!” said Taro and Billy both together, apparently disappointed.
“If they put a Russian uniform on me,” growled Taro, “I would tear it off!”