hobble
miles to the hospital, then Allah be praised! If not, he lies where he
falls till night comes and his comrades find him and tie him like a bag
of grain on a pony's back and send him on a journey that would be death
to any Christian. If a surgeon finds him he is lucky. Remembering
this, I looked back over the road by which I had come, measuring the
miles we must cross before we reached help, and then at the Professor
lying at my feet hardly breathing. I knew that we stayed where we
were. Then I looked to the front. There was help there. There were
surgeons working in that wide-spread wreath of smoke. I pointed over
the plain and called to Asaf to hurry and bring me a surgeon. He
demurred, for he was always chary about entering the zone of fire. I
promised him a hundred pounds, a farm, a horse, a flock of sheep, if
only he would go and bring me a surgeon. Malcolm Bey was mad, he said;
no surgeon would come at such a time, miles for a single wounded man.
I knew that he was right, but I could not sit idly watching my friend's
life ebb away. I doubled the prize, and with a shrug of the shoulders
Asaf mounted and galloped off.

I sat by the wounded man and waited. It was for hours. To me it
seemed days. Thousands passed by--the men of the trains, stragglers,
wounded, troops of the reserve. There were among them hands willing
enough to help, were there any help to be given, but between them and
me there was the inseparable gulf of language. One officer, a tall
Albanian, rode over, and in French asked if he could be of any
assistance; the man was a Greek; it made no difference, if he was a
friend of Malcolm Bey; he could spare a pony and men to take him back
to Larissa. I pleaded for a surgeon and an ambulance, pointing over
the plain as though there they could be had for the asking. He bowed
gravely--my request was a simple one; he would send them at once. And
he rode forward toward the smoke and the clamor.

I sat watching. My hand held the Professor's. My eyes were turned
down the road to catch the first sign of Asaf and help.

"Davy!"

He was looking up at me from beneath half-raised lids. How long he had
been watching me I did not know. His voice was very low, but in it
there was no note of surprise. To him it was quite right that I should
be there. That was enough. His sickened mind could not trouble itself
with wherefores.

"I am here, Professor," I said. The old nickname of the v