The young man's lameness resulted from a trench acquaintance with the game which Stent desired to hunt. His regiment had been, and still was, the 2nd Foreign Legion. He was on his way back, now, to finish his convalescence in his old home in Finistère. He had been a writer of stories for children. His name was Jacques Wayland.
As he turned away from the group at the rail, still amused, a man advancing aft spoke to him by name, and he recognized an American painter whom he had met in Brittany.
"You, Neeland?"
"Oh, yes. I'm fed up with watchful waiting."
"Where are you bound, ultimately?"
"I've a hint that an Overseas unit can use me. And you, Wayland?"
"Going to my old home in Finistère where I'll get well, I hope."
"And then?"
"Second Foreign."
"Oh. Get that leg in the trenches?" inquired Neeland.