rivate house "turned" into a hospital. A great many ladies
were standing about, all in Red Cross uniform. A man was there, too.
Curiously enough, he was wearing just the coat and hat that his father
would wear. Could it be possible? He turned round; lo and behold, it
_was_ his father!

"Hallo, Father!" he said.

The man came up.

Both of them seemed at a loss for words. It was neither emotion nor
sentimentality; it was just the lack of something to say. Taking
advantage of the pause, the crowd bore down upon him, and by reason of
their superior numbers drove him away, offering promises about "the day
after to-morrow."

They carried the Subaltern upstairs, and placed him in a room where two
other Officers who had arrived on the same boat were already
established.

The Hospital was "run" by the Hon. Mrs. Blank, who was placing her
entire house at the disposal of the War Office. She did everything
herself: the feeding, equipping, providing the staff. The expense must
have been huge. She worked night and day as general manageress of the
establishment. There ought to be some special honour and knighthood for
such women on this earth, and a special heaven in the next. The
Subaltern used to feel positively ashamed of himself when he thought of
the money, kindness and care that she was lavishing upon them.

The whole Hospital was a glorious, pulsating, human organisation. What
was wanted was done, not what was "laid down" in some schedule. Indeed,
their wishes were gratified before they had time to form in the mind. It
was a fairyland, and of course the fairies were the nurses. The
Subaltern and his two companions held a conference on their respective
merits.

"I like the little pale brown one; she's like a mouse."

"There's no comparison. Ours is the star turn."

"Which _is_ ours?"

"The one who dashes about?"

"The one who upset the dinner-trays?"

"Yes. Wasn't it funny? I thought I should have died!"

The Doctors, this time civilians, used to come to him twice a day. They
were quiet, reserved men, positively glowing with efficiency.

They dressed his wound, tested the reflex actions of his nerves, gazed
through holes in bright mirrors at his eyes, and made him watch
perpendicular pencils moving horizontally across his line of vision.

But life was racing back into his limbs. Hourly his strength was
returning. He no longer lay staring listlessly in the bottom of the bed.
He liked now to work himself up, to