"Feel in my pockets," said the driver. "They're yours as soon as you get the blessed engine to fire."
The man was about to do so when in the reflected glare of a star-shell he caught sight of the driver's hastily-applied bandage.
"By gum, you've been hit, lad!" he exclaimed. "Why didn't you say so, instead of offering me fags? Reckon as you'll want 'em more'n me, so here goes."
A deft manipulation of throttle and spark, a short rapid jerk of the hitherto refractory cranking-handle, and the engine began throbbing with renewed activity.
Before the driver could hand over the promised guerdon his benefactor settled matters by lifting him easily and gently into the seat. Derek, feeling sick and giddy with the pain of his broken arm, took his seat beside the driver, while the Tommy, slinging his bundle across his shoulders, ambled off into the darkness.
To Derek the journey was a nightmare. Racked with pain, hungry, thirsty, and dead tired, he was hardly conscious of the jolting, swaying vehicle, of the crump of heavy shells that were constantly searching the lines of communication, of the numerous halts owing to the congestion of traffic. Whether it was five miles, or fifty, he had not the remotest idea. All he did was to wedge the shoulder of his unwounded arm into the angle formed by the tilt and the front of the tender, and trust that he would not be flung from his seat by the terrific bumps as the battle-scarred vehicle literally bounded over the uneven road.
He was practically unconscious when deft arms assisted him from the car. He could hear voices sounding dim and far-away. Then he was faintly aware that he was in an underground retreat of vast size that smelt of iodine and ether; a lot of—to him—unnecessary man-handling, a struggle for breath, and then merciful oblivion.
Upon recovering consciousness Derek found himself at a base hospital. His arm had been set in splints, while his forehead was swathed in surgical bandages. It was the second stage of his journey to Blighty.
Three days later he was placed on board a hospital ship at Boulogne. His arm was making very satisfactory progress, and he was able to walk up the gangway unassisted; but, shortly after arriving on the other side, he made his first acquaintance with hospital red tape.
A short train journey brought him to Minterton Station, the nearest place by rail to Tollerby Military Hospital.