At the R. A. M. C. Hospital the Officer Commanding, to whom he had sent in his card, gave him a cordial greeting.
“I am glad to know you, sir. We have quite a lot of your chaps here now and then, and fine fellows they seem to be. We expect a hospital train this morning, and I understand there are some Canadians among them. Rather a bad go a few days ago at St. Eloi. Heavy casualty list. Clearing stations all crowded, and so they are sending a lot down the line.”
“Canadians?” asked Barry, thinking of his father. “You have not heard what unit, sir?”
“No, we only get the numbers and the character of the casualties and that sort of thing. Well, I must be off. Would you care to look around?”
“Thank you, no. We are also on the march. I simply came to tell you how very greatly our men appreciated your help last night.”
“Oh, that's perfectly all right. Glad the sergeant had sense enough to do the right thing.”
Barry hesitated.
“May I see—ah—the sergeant?”
“The sergeant? Why, certainly, but it's not necessary at all.”
The sergeant was called and duly thanked. The R. A. M. C. officer was obviously anxious to be rid of his visitor and to get off to his duty.