Scene: the plank road outside St. Jean. Stretcher-bearers bringing down
a man whose left leg had been blown away below the knee. A man coming
up recognises the man on the stretcher, and the following conversation
ensues:
"Hello, Bill!" Then, catching sight of the left leg: "Blimey! You ain't
'arf copped it."
The Reply: A faint smile, a right hand feebly pointing to the left
sleeve already bearing _six_ gold stripes, and a hoarse voice which
said, "Anuvver one, and seven's me lucky number."--_S. G. Wallis
Norton, Norton House, Peaks Hill, Purley._