“It's from the casualty clearing station, sir. One of our chaps from Edmonton is there dangerously wounded, and wants to see me. I'd like to go, sir, if I might.”
“Oh, certainly. I'll make it all right with the O. C. Get a horse from the transport. Which casualty clearing station is it?”
Cameron looked at his message.
“Menin Mill, sir.”
“Menin Mill! By gad, I thought it was Brandthoek, but Menin Mill, good Lord, that's a different proposition. That's way beyond Ypres, you know. Right up on the line. You can't take a horse there. Do you think you ought to go up at all?”
“I think I should like to go, sir,” replied Cameron. “I know the chap well. Went to school and college with him.”
“Then,” said the major, “you had better hurry up and attach yourself to one of the transports going in. You will barely be in time.”
“Thank you, sir,” said Cameron, and left the room.
Barry went out with him. “Who is it, Cameron?” he said. “Do I know him?”
“I don't know, sir, whether you do or not. It's young McPherson of Edmonton, an awfully decent chap, and my very best friend.”