The wounded soldier lay in his deck-chair placidly smoking his hundredth
cigarette that day. He was not naturally a smoker, but cigarettes
arrived in enormous numbers and something had to be done with them.
His visitor sat beside him, note-book in hand. "Yes?" he remarked.
"And then," said the soldier, "came the order to charge. We fixed
bayonets and rushed at the Bosches like mad. It was glorious--like the
best kind of football match."
The visitor took it all down, and more.
"I remember bayonetting two men," said the soldier, "and then I remember
nothing else. And that's six months ago. Still, I'm getting well, and
then there's only one thing on earth that I really want with a
passionate desire ..."
"I know! I know!" said the visitor, moistening his pencil.
"Never to see any more war as long as I live," the soldier continued.