to the far side of the tree," said McMahon, "and
let him lie down there flat on his back. You can give him a cigarette,
He is to stay there until he gets orders to leave."

The orderly saluted. The man grinned. He was quite ready to lie under
the tree without attempting to move until someone ordered him to get up.

In the course of the next ten minutes six more casualties arrived. Their
injuries were of several different kinds. One man reported that his
thumb had been taken off by a machine-gun bullet Another said he had a
scalp wound A third had lost a whole leg, severed at the thigh. A fourth
had a fragment of shell in his stomach. A fifth was completely blinded.
A sixth was suffering from gas poisoning. McMahon's treatment never
varied. Each man was given a cigarette and led off by the orderly to lie
down in the shade at the far side of the tree. McMahon kept quite cool,
refreshed himself occasionally with a drink of lemon squash, and smoked
his pipe. He began to admire the activity of the Colonel's imagination.
For two hours casualties poured in and every one had a different kind of
wound. There was scarcely any part of the human body with which McMahon
was not called upon to deal And the Colonel never once repeated himself.
Before four o'clock about a third of the battalion and half of the
officers were lying, very well content, in the shade under McMahon's
care. Many of them were sound asleep.

The orderly was a man with a sense of military propriety. He insisted on
the casualties lying in straight rows, as neatly aligned as if they were
on their feet at parade in the barrack square. At last the stream of
wounded grew slacker and finally ceased to flow. Between half-past
four and five o'clock not a single man came to report himself wounded.
McMahon, lighting a fresh pipe, congratulated himself. Either the
Colonel's knowledge of anatomy was exhausted and he was unable to think
of any more wounds, or the battle was over, and there was no further
excuse for inventing casualties. McMahon got up and stretched himself.
He handed his novel, the two empty soda-water bottles, and his tobacco
tin to the orderly, and bade him pack them up.

"No cigarettes left, I suppose?" he said.

"No, sir, not one. In fact, sir, the last twenty men didn't get any.
Weren't enough to go round them all, sir."

"Ah," said McMahon, "it's been an expensive afternoon for me; but I
don't grudge it Those poor fellows wanted a smoke and a res