"All the symptoms, I'm afraid. That's just how it took poor old
Simpson. He had this very cot--let me see, back in '16, I suppose.
I had it very slightly afterwards--it was touch and go; I was the
only one they pulled through--but I only had it _very_ slightly, you
understand--not like that. But cheer up, old man. I've been told that
a fellow got through it in the next ward--of course he's an idiot now,
but he didn't _die_. I don't suppose you'll be wanting the rest of
these apples, will you? All right, don't mention it;" and he passed on
to the next cot.
When the proper doctor came round a few minutes later (Burnett says)
he found his own thermometer quite inadequate and had to borrow the
one that registers the heat of the ward. When he took it out of my
mouth it wasn't far short of boiling-point, and he wrote straight off
to _The Lancet_ about it; also they had to get one of those lightning
calculator chaps down to count my pulse.
Long before I came to, Ellis had been discharged, the ward had filled
up with fresh cases (except Burnett, of course), and the armistice had
been signed.
When I was well enough they handed me a letter which Ellis had left
for me.
"DEAR L----" (it ran),--"Yes, the rabbits have had their food. The
biggest of them swallowed it all most satisfactorily.
"Your loving ELLIS."
* * * * *
[Illustration: "AND I SUPPOSE YOU WILL BE DEMOBILISED AS SOON AS YOU
GET OUT OF HOSPITAL?"
"OH, NO, MUM. YOU SEE, I WAS A SOLDIER IN CIVVY LIFE."]
* * * * *
[Illustration: _Hostess_. "WHAT! GOING ALREADY, DEARS? IT'S VERY
EARLY."
_Little Girl_. "YES--WE HAVE TO GO ON TO ANOTHER PARTY. WE'RE SORRY,
BUT--YOU KNOW WHAT IT IS AT THIS TIME OF THE YEAR."]
* * * * *
SHAKSPEARE on not the least surprising of Mr. LLOYD GEORGE'S
appointments:--
"How now, Woolsack? what mutter you?"
_I. Henry IV._, ii. 4, 148.
* * * * *