open, for
orderlies were scrubbing floors, and Sheila O'Leary in the operating-room
above could catch the words of the third chorus that had rung through the
hospital since the ban of silence had been raised.

"Gra-ma-cree ma-cruiskeen, Slainte-geal ma-vour-neen,
Gra-ma-cree a-coolin bawn, bawn, bawn,
Oh!"

As usual, Larry's crescendo boomed in the lead. How those lads could sing!

In the regular order of things it was time for dressings; but the regular
order of things was so often broken at No. 10 that it had nearly become a
myth. The operating staff had been steadily at it since eleven the night
before. If nothing more came in, they might be through by eleven now and
the dressings come only two hours late. That would be rare good luck.
Under the spell of the singing the tired backs of surgeons and nurses
straightened unconsciously; cramped muscles seemed to lose some of their
kinks; everybody smiled without knowing it--down to the last of the boys
who were waiting their turn in the corridor outside. The boys had not been
in the hospital long enough to know anything about Ward 7-A, but the
challenge to courage and good spirits in that chorus of voices was too
dominant to be denied, even among the sorest wounded of them. One after
another rallied to it like veterans.

"Gra-ma-cree ma-cruiskeen bawn," boomed Larry's voice to the finish.

The chief of the Surgical Staff looked at Sheila as she handed him the
sutures he was reaching for. "They're the best we've had yet, eh? Not one
with half a fighting chance, and just listen to the ones who are pulling
through."

"They're Irish." There was a tinge of pride in the nurse's voice.

The chief smiled. "It's like flipping a coin to find out whether you're
more Irish or American. Sometimes it's heads, sometimes it's tails. Which
is it, honestly?"

"Honestly, both!" Sheila laughed softly. Then the door opened to admit the
last of the stretchers, and she sobered for an instant until she saw the
faces of the boys. She knew why they were smiling, and her eyes shone in
the old luminous, Leerie fashion as she greeted them, each as if he had
been an old friend.

"There's a welcome for you. Those lads you hear have gone through what you
are going through, only a lot worse. Listen, and think of that as you go
under. They'll be singing again in a moment." And as she slipped the ether
cone over the face of the first, up from Ward 7-A in rollicking cadences
came another c