“I know that I lost more men than I should,” I replied. “Still I don’t believe the Huns thought that their fun paid for their powder.”
“No, nor I either,” said the major, putting out his hand and grasping my shoulder with the other. “You made a good skillful fight of it.”
“I have some doubts about the skill,” I said; “but my men! weren’t they daisies for a scrap?”
And we agreed about that.
The next day I took my departure for the hospital with conflicting emotions. I wanted to go, and yet I wanted to stay, for fear that I might miss a chance to hit back at the Huns. But obedience to orders and—other considerations—tipped the scales.
I can not describe my reception at the hospital without appearing egotistical. While my wound was given proper attention, it was pleasant to feel that, for once, in a hospital, I was something more than a “case.”
Emily’s face beamed with pleasure as with smiles and blushes she greeted me. She was not so wordy in her expressions of welcome as was Miss Rich; but somehow I liked Emily’s way best.
Dr. Rich had common sense; he did not prescribe any special diet, but when I hinted that a liberal one suited me best, said: “Eat what best agrees with you. A patient ought to know what agrees with him better than a doctor.”
That suited me exactly. He gave me perfect liberty to go and come just as I pleased—only I must report once a day to have my wound dressed, and of course three times a day for my meals, and also sleep there.
I stuck to that hospital, and one of its nurses, more faithfully than perhaps my case demanded; and I was interested in cases and in everything else of which Emily had charge.