“But he looks so confoundedly young and unassuming.”
“Well, he is young. Just a little over the draft age. I remember covering the story at the time. Bob, you don’t know what fine medical care we’re getting in this man’s army. This specialist has made you a nice new rib out of silver and spliced the pieces of bone together to the plate, or bar, or something, so that the bone would form over it again. What’s the matter, old man, you’re trembling. Here, take this pill. I’ve got plenty.
“Now you’ve got a tin rib to match my aluminum shin and my nickel-plated skull.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at this leg.”
McCall pulled up the leg of his pajama and revealed a narrow, almost imperceptible scar.
“Feel it. Oh, it won’t bite you. A neat job. Now run your finger over my skull here. That’s some more of Levin’s work.”
“But it’s right next to the eye, that dent there.”
“Sure.”
“But you couldn’t have been hit there without losing your sight. The shell would have cut your optic nerve.”