"That's the trouble; we have too many already," chuckled the ambulancier.
Don and Dunstan, electing to follow Roland's example, a short time later climbed into number eight and made themselves comfortable on the brancards, or stretchers, using a rolled up blanket as a pillow. And while they lay there waiting—still waiting for the call of duty, the whistle of the "arrivés," as the shells which came from the German guns were called, and the "departs"—those hurled by the French batteries—frequently sounded over the air.
But the night passed without any especial incident.
The next day was almost a repetition of the first, and when Don and Dunstan, at the expiration of their forty-eight hour stretch, returned to headquarters they had made only one trip to the field hospital. Each knew, however, that it was only a question of time when the nature of their occupation would necessarily carry them into a great deal more excitement and danger than they cared about.
[CHAPTER V]
UNDER FIRE
It frequently happened that the ambulanciers had been obliged to take their meals in the midst of shell-pitted fields, or perhaps in some little village street. On such occasions planks thrown across a couple of saw-horses served as a table.
At the Hotel de la Palette, however, things were very different. There, in the dining-room of the hostelry, they sat in comfort at the same tables before which, in former times, peasants and care-free patrons had once enjoyed repasts. The room, too, was very attractive, for the visiting artists had recorded with paint and brush their impressions of the charming scenery around. One of these pictures, executed on the panel of a door, was signed by an English landscape artist who later became a celebrated Royal Academician.
The rolling field kitchen, in charge of a French army cook, stood in one corner of the courtyard, and the members of the section took turns in acting as "chow," as the waiter was humorously called.