"Twelve inches make one foot, six feet make one man, sixty men make one troop, four troops make one squadron," the monotonous voice ran on.Then it came to an unexpected finale."And three squadrons make the Boer army run."The man in the next bed giggled.His wound was in his shoulder, and it had left his sense of humor unimpaired.As a rule, the fighting records of the wounded never came inside that long, bed-bordered room; but there were few within it now who were ignorant of the plucky ride made by the lean, boyish-looking Canadian trooper.Apart of the story had come by way of the doctor in charge of the ambulance train which had brought him from Krugersdorp to Johannesburg, a part of it had come from the trooper's own lips, and that was the most tragic part of it all.
Below, in the courtyard of the hospital, Kruger Bobs squatted on his heels in the sun and waited.Now and then, he vanished to look after the creature comforts of The Nig and the little gray broncho; now and then he shuffled forward to demand news from some passer-by whose sleeve was banded with the Red-Cross badge.Then he shuffled back to his former post and sat himself down on his heels once more.
Kruger Bobs possessed the racial traits which make it an easy matter to sit and wait for news.He was also an optimist.Nevertheless, his face now was overcast and rarely did it vanish behind the spreading limits of his smile.
For four days, Weldon lay prostrate and babbled of all things, past, present and to come.Three names dotted his babblings.One was that of his mother, one of his captain, and the third that of Ethel Dent.
With all three of them, he appeared to be upon the best of terms.
Finally, on the fifth day, he suddenly waked to the fact that a woman was bending above him, to wipe his face with a damp sponge.
He was too weak to rise.Nevertheless, he straightened himself into a rigid line, and addressed her with dignity.
"I beg your pardon.Please don't wash my face for me," he said, in grave displeasure.
She smiled down at him, with the air of a mother smiling at a fretful child.The smile irritated him.
"Doesn't it refresh you?" she asked quietly.
"No," he answered, with flat, ungracious, mendacity.
"I am sorry.You have been sleeping heavily, and--"He felt his mind slipping out of his own grasp, and he strove to hold it in his keeping.
"No matter now," he interrupted hastily."Please get me--"She waited in silence.Then she asked encouragingly,--"What shall I get you?"
The mind was almost gone; but still he held fast to the edge of it, as he murmured,--"Some bully beef."
The nurse turned away.Her lips were smiling; but her eyes clouded, as the babbling began once more.
Twenty-four hours later, she was greeted by a white-faced, clear-headed trooper.
"Good-morning, nurse," he said coolly."You see I am better.""Much better, Mr.Weldon," she assented cordially.He looked puzzled."I thought we fellows in hospital had no names, nothing but numbers," he answered.
"It depends.When one meets an old friend, the number isn't quite the right name for him."Turning slightly, he stared up at her with the impassive curiosity of a man just coming back from The Unknown.Then he shook his head.
"I am afraid--" he began slowly.
With a quick gesture, she took off her crisp white cap, uncovering a heavy pile of ink-black hair."There!" she said, with a smile."Does that make me look more natural, Mr.Weldon? I am Alice Mellen, Cooee Dent's cousin."Instantly he put out his hand, sunburned still, but curiously thin.
The smile on his lips was the boyish, frank smile which Alice had seen and liked, that afternoon in the garden at home.
"What good angel brings you here?" he asked eagerly.
"No angel; merely the lady who rules over the household of Mars.Iam glad to find you again, even if the Johannesburg hospital isn't a good place for a man.But you mustn't talk now.Later, we can make up for lost time."Impetuously his fingers shut on a fold of her apron.Then his native instincts and his years of training asserted themselves, and he let go once more.Nevertheless, his eyes were appealing.
"Don't go."
"But I must," she answered, her hands busy with her cap.
Her tone showed that, like himself, she too had learned the meaning of an order.He yielded to its quiet firmness.
"If you must.But, before you go, tell me this: have I been off my head?"She nodded in assent.
He frowned.
"Sorry," he said briefly."Please answer me honestly.Have I mumbled things and made a blasted fool of myself?"It was still two days before he was allowed to talk to his own satisfaction.Then, one afternoon in her rest hour, Alice Mellen let him have his way and, seated by his cot, she answered tersely to a raking fire of terse questions.
"How long have I been here?"
"Just a week."
"How did I get here?"
"Hospital train from Krugersdorp."
"What for?"
"You had a touch of fever.We could treat you better here." Her replies were man-like in their brevity.
"Fever? I thought it was a Mauser bullet.""It was.Your leg was not so bad; but the long ride and the exposure to the storm--"He interrupted her.
"What do you know about my ride?" he asked.
Her answer showed that the woman was not lost in the nurse.
"Everybody knows of your ride.Even in these days of plucky deeds, we are proud of you."He shook his head, though the color came into his cheeks, brown beneath their pallor.
"It was nothing.I did my duty."
"So Kruger Bobs has informed us."
"Kruger Bobs? Is he here?"
This time, she laughed outright.
"I should say he was.For a week, he has been sitting exactly in the path of the doctors, waiting for news.Twice he has been ordered off; but he merely hitches over to the other end of the steps and refuses to budge farther.We discovered him, the first night you were here, by having the bead surgeon fall headlong over him, as he went down the steps.Kruger Bobs doesn't show up well, on a dark night."Weldon clasped his hands at the back of his head.
