t
want to exceed his authority. It seems the English marine is very
particular about such things. He's a Canadian, and he graduated
first in his class at Edinburgh. I gather he was frozen out in
private practice. You see, his appearance is against him. It's an
awful handicap to look like a kid and be as shy as he is."

The Doctor rose, shored up his shoulders and took his bag.
"You're looking fine yourself, Lieutenant," he remarked.

"Parents both living? Were they quite young when you were born?
Well, then their parents were, probably. I'm a crank about that.
Yes, I'll get my bath pretty soon, and I will lie down for an
hour or two. With those splendid band boys running the hospital,
I get a little lee-way."

Claude wondered how the Doctor kept going. He knew he hadn't had
more than four hours sleep out of the last forty-eight, and he
was not a man of rugged constitution. His bath steward was, as he
said, his comfort. Hawkins was an old fellow who had held better
positions on better boats,--yes, in better times, too. He had
first gone to sea as a bath steward, and now, through the
fortunes of war, he had come back where he began,--not a good
place for an old man. His back was bent meekly, and he shuffled
along with broken arches. He looked after the comfort of all the
officers, and attended the doctor like a valet; got out his clean
linen, persuaded him to lie down and have a hot drink after his
bath, stood on guard at his door to take messages for him in the
short hours when he was resting. Hawkins had lost two sons in the
war and he seemed to find a solemn consolation in being of
service to soldiers. "Take it a bit easy now, sir. You'll 'ave it
'ard enough over there," he used to say to one and another.

At eleven o'clock one of the Kansas men came to tell Claude that
his Corporal was going fast. Big Tannhauser's fever had left him,
but so had everything else. He lay in a stupor. His congested
eyeballs were rolled back in his head and only the yellowish
whites were visible. His mouth was open and his tongue hung out
at one side. From the end of the corridor Claude had heard the
frightful sounds that came from his throat, sounds like violent
vomiting, or the choking rattle of a man in strangulation,--and,
indeed, he was being strangled. One of the band boys brought
Claude a camp chair, and said kindly, "He doesn't suffer. It's
mechanical now. He'd go easier if he hadn't so much vitality. The
Doctor says he may