"Only a week," he said. "The regiment marched from —— to here. 'Twasn't 'arf a bloomin' sweat. We came up and got into action at once."
"You'll be going home with this wound," I said.
"Will I?" he asked eagerly.
"Yes," I replied. "A fracture of the forearm. It will keep you in England for six months. How do you like that?"
"I'll be pleased," he said.
"Have you a mother?" I asked.
"No, but I've a girl."
"Oh!"
"Not 'arf I aven't," said the youth. "I've only one, too. I don't 'old with foolin' about with women. One's enough to be gone on, and often one is one too many."
"Very sound reasoning," I remarked sleepily. I had sat down on the floor and was dozing off.