“I was wounded, too, sir. I got it same time you did, Lieutenant.”
“Am I wounded? Of course, I remember. Is this a hospital ship?”
The steward shrugged his shoulders. “She’s one of the transports. They have turned her over to the fever cases.”
The Lieutenant opened his lips to ask another question; but his own body answered that one, and for a moment he lay silent.
“Do they know up North that I—that I’m all right?”
“Oh, yes, the papers had it in—there was pictures of the Lieutenant in some of them.”
“Then I’ve been ill some time?”
“Oh, about eight days.”
The soldier moved uneasily, and the nurse in him became uppermost.
“I guess the Lieutenant hadn’t better talk any more,” he said. It was his voice now which held authority.