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Gussie, on arrival, proved to be still showing traces of his grim experience. The face was pale, the eyes gooseberry-like, the ears drooping, and the whole aspect that of a man who has passed through the furnace and been caught in the machinery. I hitched myself up a bit higher on the pillows and gazed at him narrowly. It was a moment, I could see, when first aid was required, and I prepared to get down to cases.
“Well, Gussie.”
“Hullo, Bertie.”
“What ho.”
“What ho.”
These civilities concluded, I felt that the moment had come to touch delicately on the past.
“I hear you’ve been through it a bit.”
“Yes.”