"Probably not, from your standpoint. Now, Kelly, I'd like some tea. And see if you can put a little less candle, currants, and sand in it than you did this morning."
"If ye'd lave the last half inch in the bottom of yer cup, sor, ye'd never know there was any thin' but tea in it"; and he left to prepare as good a cup of tea as one could desire, except for these extras which a paternal quartermaster always inserts into the various articles of diet. Of course, the fact that the tea and sugar come in sandbags, and the candles are put into the sugar to prevent breaking them, adds to this complication.
Kelly is a good cook, and no mean philosopher. He continually emphasizes the importance of what he calls, "a sinse of humor." One night when he had taken too much of what he called at various times, "the crather," "humor producer," "potheen," or "honey dew," I heard him say to a companion:
"As me frind, Lord Norfolk, says, there remain these three, faith, hope, and charity, and the greatest of these is a sinse of humor."
A day came when Kelly, going for water with two old gasoline cans slung over his shoulder, was struck by a shell. He was some seven hundred yards from my aid post at the time. Fortunately some stretcher bearers nearby went to his aid. Though the shortest way out was rearward, and well he knew it, he insisted on being carried back "to explain his absince to the docthor." I saw them bringing him in, and ran to him for, in spite of any faults, his never-failing loyalty and his good-humored and faithful service had endeared him to me. He had been covered by a coat of a stretcher bearer, so I could not see at once what his injuries were.
"Where have you been hit, Kelly?" I demanded anxiously, for his face was pale.
"Do ye mane, sor, anatomically, or jayographically?" and a wan smile lit up the pallid face, as his quick-witted humor got the better of his suffering. But I had taken the coat away, and I saw that the wound was fatal. Keeping my head low so that he could not see the expression on my face, or the tears in my eyes, I gently dressed the wound. He bore the handling without flinching. As I finished he said bravely:
"Well, docthor, they've done fer me this toime. Oh, ye naydent throy to hoide it from me; Oi know; an' Oi'd not care to have on'y half of me hoppin' about, anyway."
"Oh, we'll pull you through, Kelly, old man. You promised to be my chauffeur after the war; but I know you never did like working for me and now you're trying to dodge," and I tried to smile, but he saw the tears running down my cheeks.
"None o' yer jokes, now, docthor. Oi know it's all over wid me. And, raly, it don't matther, fer there's no one that cares," and, as I looked at him reproachfully, "except you, sor. An' God knows whoy ye do, fer I've been but an impident servant to ye. But, docthor," looking at me imploringly, "ye forgive me now, don't ye, fer it was on'y taisin' Oi was?"