must have been most satisfactory, for on receipt Bobby's eyes softened marvellously, and he was used to fall into a tender abstraction for a while, ere, shaking his cropped head, he charged into his work anew.
By what power he drew after him the hearts of the roughest, and the Tail Twisters counted in their ranks some rough diamonds indeed, was a mystery to both skipper and C. O., who learned from the regimental chaplain that Bobby was considerably more in request in the hospital tents than the Reverend John Emery.
"The men seem fond of you. Are you in the hospitals much?" said the Colonel, who did his daily round and ordered the men to get well with a grimness that did not cover his better grief.
"A little, Sir," said Bobby.
"Shouldn't go there too often if I were you. They say it's not contagious, but there's no use in running unnecessary risks. We can't afford to have you down, y'know."
Six days later, it was with the utmost difficulty that the post-runner plashed his way out to the Camp with the Mailbags, for the rain was falling in torrents. Bobby received a letter, bore it off to his tent and, the programme for the next week's Sing-song being satisfactorily disposed of, sat down to answer it. For an hour the unhandy pen toiled over the paper, and where sentiment rose to more than normal tide-level Bobby Wick stuck out his tongue and breathed heavily. He was not used to letter-writing.
"Beg y' pardon Sir," said a voice at the tent door; "but Dormer's 'orrid bad, Sir, and they've taken him orf, Sir."
"Damn Private Dormer and you too!" said Bobby Wick, running the blotter over the half-finished letter. "Tell him I'll come in the morning."
"'E's awful bad, Sir," said the voice hesitatingly. There was an undecided squelching of heavy boots.
"Well?" said Bobby impatiently.
"Excusin' 'imself before'and for takin' the liberty, 'e says it would be a comfort for to assist 'im, Sir, if "
