That night Jacquelin scribbled a line to Andy and persuaded a nurse, Miss Bush, a small woman with thin hair, a sharp nose and a complaining voice, but gentle eyes and a kind heart, to get it to him. It ran: “Hold on for Delia’s sake. We’ll get exchanged before long.”
“Who is Delia?” asked the nurse, looking at the paper doubtfully. It was against orders to carry notes.
“His sweetheart.”
The nurse took the note.
In a week Andy was ready to be out of the hospital.
The next morning Jacquelin and the doctor had a long talk, and later on, Jacquelin and the nurse; and when the next draft for exchange came, the name of Jacquelin Gray was on it. But Andy Stamper’s was not. So the nurse told Jacquelin. Another note was written and conveyed by Miss Bush, and that evening, when the line of prisoners for exchange marched out of the prison yard, Andy Stamper, with his old blanket pulled up around his face and a crutch under his arm, was in it. Jacquelin was watching from a corner of the hospital window while the line was inspected. Andy answered the questions all right—Private in Company A, —th Cavalry; captured at ——; wounded in leg; and just left hospital. As the last guard filed out behind the ragged line and the big gate swung to, Jacquelin hobbled back to his cot and lay with his face to the wall. The nurse came by presently and stopping, looked down at him.
“Now you’ve gone and ruined your chance for ever,” she said in the querulous tone habitual with her.
Jacquelin shut his eyes tightly, then opened them and without a word gazed straight at the wall not a foot before him. Suddenly the woman bent close down over him and kissed him.
“You are a dear boy.” The next instant she went back to her duty.