w.

Vane was no theologian--no more than are the thousands of others across
the water. Before the war he had been in the habit of dismissing any
religious question by the comforting assertion that if all one's pals
are in Hell, one might as well join them. But in the Game of Death the
thoughts of many men have probed things they passed over lightly
before. It is not doctrine they want; faith and belief in beautiful
formulas have become less and less satisfying. They are beginning to
think for themselves, which is anathema to the Church. Of old she
prevented such a calamity by a policy of terrorising her followers; of
later years she has adopted the simpler one of boring them. And yet it
is only simplicity they want; the simple creeds of helping on the other
fellow and playing the game is what they understand. But they will
have to be reminded of it from time to time. One wonders whether the
Church will be big enough to seize the opportunity that stares her in
the face.

Vane nodded to the grey-haired Roman Catholic as he paused at the foot
of his bed.

"Shoulder painful?" The priest held out a lighted match for Vane's
cigarette.

"Throbs a bit, Padre; but it might be worse." He smiled and lay back
on his pillows. "An arm makes one feel so helpless."

"I think I'd sooner lose an arm than a leg," remarked the Gunner from
the next bed. For a while they pursued this debatable point, much as
men discuss politics, and incidentally with far less heat. . . . It
was a question of interest, and the fact that the Gunner _had_ lost his
leg made no difference to the matter at all. An onlooker would have
listened in vain for any note of complaint. . . .

"Time you were getting to sleep--both of you." Margaret's voice
interrupted the conversation, and Vane looked up with a smile. She was
shaking an admonitory finger at Father O'Rourke, and with a sudden
quickening of the pulse he realised how perfectly charming she looked.

"Sister, dear," said the Gunner, "you're on my side, aren't you? It's
better to lose an arm than a leg, isn't it?"

For a moment she affected to consider the point. Then suddenly she
smiled, and came between their beds. "Unless you both of you go to
sleep at once I'll come and wash you again."

With a groan of horror the Gunner hid himself under the bed-clothes,
and Margaret, still smiling, turned to Vane.

"Good night, Derek," she said very low. "Sometimes I just want to sit
down a