"By George!" said Vicary, meditatively, "it seems almost like a dream now—all but the souvenirs we carry—eh, Warry?"
Warrington's hand went up to the livid band that ran across forehead, nose, and cheek, and almost bisected his strong face.
"One comfort," Vicary went on, "mine don't show. Not but what that has its drawbacks," he added, with a chuckle; "no one seems to believe they touched me—think I got my sick-leave on the bounce. And I can't continually strip to prove it."
Still his senior was silent. Vicary edged round a little to look at his face. Then his eyes opened and his voice changed.
"Warrington," he said, "d'you remember that very first dust up we had the second day out from Kir Wallah?"
Warrington nodded.
"That was my first taste of the walk-up-and-down-as-a-target business," said Vicary, solemnly; "and I was in a blue funk. Couldn't help it. Knees all flabby and face all twitchy when those bullets began whispering and pattering."
Warrington laughed nervously.
"I gave you the right sort of a dressing down," he said.
"It pulled me through," said Vicary; then, leaning forward, and still more solemnly, "I say, what did I look like?—all drawn up and ghastly?"