But now R.A.M.C. orderlies are at hand, and the symposium comes to an
end. The stretchers are conveyed one by one into the long open coaches
of the train, and each patient is slipped sideways, with gentleness
and dispatch, into his appointed cot.
One saloon is entirely filled with officers--the severe cases in the
cots, the rest sitting where they can. A newspaper is passed round.
There are delighted exclamations, especially from a second lieutenant
whose features appear to be held together entirely by strips of
plaster. Such parts of the countenance as can be discerned are smiling
broadly.
"I _knew_ we were doing well," says the bandaged one, devouring the
headlines; "but I never knew we were doing as well as this. Official,
too! Somme Battle--what? Sorry! I apologise!" as a groan ran round the
saloon.
"Never mind," said an unshaven officer, with a twinkling eye, and a
major's tunic wrapped loosely around him. "I expect that jest will
be overworked by more people than you for the next few weeks. Does
anybody happen to know where this train is going to?"
"West of England, somewhere, I believe," replied a voice.
There was an indignant groan from various north countrymen.
"I suppose it is quite impossible to sort us all out at a time like
this," remarked a plaintive Caledonian in an upper cot; "but I fail
to see why the R.A.M.C. authorities should go through the mockery of
_asking_ every man in the train where he wants to be taken, when the
train can obviously only go to one place--or perhaps two. I was asked.
I said 'Edinburgh'; and the medical wallah said, 'Righto! We'll send
you to Bath!'"
"I think I can explain," remarked the wounded major. "These trains
usually go to two places--one half to Bath, the other, say, to Exeter.
Bath is nearer to Edinburgh than Exeter, so they send you there. It is
kindly meant, but--"
"I say," croaked a voice from another cot,--its owner was a young
officer who must just have escaped being left behind at a Base
hospital as too dangerously wounded to move,--"is that a newspaper
down there? Would some one have a look, and tell me if we have got
Longueval all right? Longueval? Long--I got pipped, and don't quite--"
The wounded major turned his head quickly.
"Hallo, Bobby!" he observed cheerfully. "That you? I didn't notice you
before."
Bobby Little's hot eyes turned slowly on Wagstaffe, and he exclaimed
feverishly:--
"Hallo, Major! Cheeroh! Did we stick to Longueval all right? I've been
dreaming about it a bit, and--"
"We did," replied Wagstaffe--"thanks to 'A' Company."
Bobby Little's head fell back on the pillow, and he remarked
contentedly:--
"Thanks awfully. I think I can sleep a bit now. So long! See you
later!"
His eyes closed, and he sighed happily, as the long train slid out
from the platform.