all he had got to do was to
lie in bed and wait, this could be done just as easily in a London
hospital.

"As soon as you are well enough to travel, you shall go to England. Your
case can be better treated there," the Doctor promised him.

CHAPTER XXXIV

SOMEWHERE IN MAYFAIR

The speed of the train astounded him. Such tremendous things had
happened to him since he had last travelled in an express train. He
loved every English field as it passed, every hedge and tree.

He was at peace with the world. The only blemish was that the awful war
was still dragging on its awful course--still exacting its awful toll.
He was rushing Londonwards--towards his "people" and everything he
wanted. The pains had gone from his head, except for occasional
headaches. And, wonder of wonders, he could move his whole leg and arm!
Contentment stole over him. He was on perfectly good terms with himself
and the world in general. Life, after all, was delightful.

* * * * *

The voyage had been wonderful. Not for one moment of the forty-eight
hours that it took to reach Southampton did the wavelets upset the
equilibrium of the vessel. Only the faintest vibration showed him that
she was moving at all. The food had been good and plentiful, the
attendance matchless. All things seemed to be "working together for
good."

While engrossed in this reverie, he awoke to the fact that well-known
landscapes were rolling past his window.

Tidshot! There was the familiar landmark--the tree-crested hill and the
church. The station flashed by, and then the well-known training areas.

"Just as if I were going up to town for the week-end!" he told himself.

The familiar suburbs whizzed past. Clapham Junction, Vauxhall, the
grinding of brakes, and the train was gliding quietly along Waterloo
platform.

An Officer boarded the train, and, in spite of a great deal of
discussion and requests, succeeded in thrusting scraps of paper into
every one's hand.

"The Something Hospital, Chester Square," some one read.

"What? Oh, I thought you said 'The Empire Hospital, Leicester Square!'"
yelled half-a-dozen wits almost simultaneously.

He was carried out on his stretcher, slid into a St. John Ambulance, and
driven to the address on the piece of paper, which was "not a hundred
miles from Berkeley Square," as the Gossip writers put it.

The Ambulance Stretcher Bearers carried him into the hall of what was
evidently a p