Private Brown lay upon his pillows thoughtfully sucking the new pencil
given him by his mate in the next bed. Propped against the cradle that
covered his shattered knee was a pad, to which a sheet of paper had
been fixed, and he was about to write a letter to his wife.
It was plainly to be an effort, for apart from the fact that he was
never a scholar there was the added uncertainty of his long disused
right hand to be reckoned with; but at last he grasped the pencil with
all the firmness he could muster and began:--
"DEAR WIFE,--I got your letter about Jim he ought to gone long ago,
shirking I calls it. This hospital is very nice and when you come down
from London youll see all the flowers and the gramophone which is a
fair treat. My wounds is slow and I often gets cramp."
No sooner was the fatal word written than the fingers of his right
hand began to stiffen, the pencil fell upon the bed, then rolled
dejectedly to the floor, where the writer said it might stay for
all he cared.
"You must let me finish the letter," said I, when his hand had been
rubbed and tucked away in a warm mitten.
"Thank you, Miss; I was getting on nicely, and there's not much more
to say," he returned ruefully, scanning the wavering lines before him.
"Well, shall I go on for a bit and let you wind up," said I,
unscrewing my pen and taking the pad on my knee.
"Me telling you what to put like?" he asked with a look of pleased
relief.
"That's it. Just say what you would write down yourself."
He cleared his throat.
"DEAR WIFE," he resumed, "the wounds is ... awful, not letting me
write at all. The one in my back is as long as your arm, and they says
it will heal quicker than the one in my knee, which has two tubes in
which they squirts strong-smelling stuff through. The foot is a pretty
sight, as big as half a melon, and I doubts ever being able to put it
to the ground again, though they says I shall. I gets very stiff at
nights and the pain sometimes is cruel, but they gives me a prick with
the morphia needle then which makes me dream something beautiful...."
There was a pause while he indulged in a smiling reverie.
"Perhaps we have said enough about your pains," I ventured, when,
returning from his visions, he puckered his brows in fresh thought.
"Your wife might be frightened if--"
"Not her," he interrupted proudly. "She's a rare good nurse herself,
and it would take more than that to turn _her_ up."