er
these boys died, the better.

The Texan, passing with his next load, asked Claude why he didn't
go into the office and wait until the rush was over. Looking in
through the glass door, Claude noticed a young man writing at a
desk enclosed by a railing. Something about his figure, about the
way he held his head, was familiar. When he lifted his left arm
to prop open the page of his ledger, it was a stump below the
elbow. Yes, there could be no doubt about it; the pale, sharp
face, the beak nose, the frowning, uneasy brow. Presently, as if
he felt a curious eye upon him, the young man paused in his rapid
writing, wriggled his shoulders, put an iron paperweight on the
page of his book, took a case from his pocket and shook a
cigarette out on the table. Going up to the railing, Claude
offered him a cigar. "No, thank you. I don't use them any more.
They seem too heavy for me." He struck a match, moved his
shoulders again as if they were cramped, and sat down on the edge
of his desk.

"Where do these wounded men come from?" Claude asked. "I just got
in on the Anchises yesterday."

"They come from various evacuation hospitals. I believe most of
them are the Belleau Wood lot."

"Where did you lose your arm?"

"Cantigny. I was in the First Division. I'd been over since last
September, waiting for something to happen, and then got fixed in
my first engagement."

"Can't you go home?"

"Yes, I could. But I don't want to. I've got used to things over
here. I was attached to Headquarters in Paris for awhile."

Claude leaned across the rail. "We read about Cantigny at home,
of course. We were a good deal excited; I suppose you were?"

"Yes, we were nervous. We hadn't been under fire, and we'd been
fed up on all that stuff about it's taking fifty years to build a
fighting machine. The Hun had a strong position; we looked up
that long hill and wondered how we were going to behave." As he
talked the boy's eyes seemed to be moving all the time, probably
because he could not move his head at all. After blowing out deep
clouds of smoke until his cigarette was gone, he sat down to his
ledger and frowned at the page in a way which said he was too
busy to talk.

Claude saw Dr. Trueman standing in the doorway, waiting for him.
They made their morning call on Fanning, and left the hospital
together. The Doctor turned to him as if he had something on his
mind.

"I saw you talking to that wry-necked boy. How did he seem, all
r