Copyright Story. AT THE BASE

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLIII, Issue 7, 18 August 1909, Page 55

Copyright Story. AT THE BASE

By

ROMA WHITE

Author of “ The Testimony of Esther Sandys,” Etc.

THE ward was very quiet. Most of the beds were empty, and the few patients left were too ill to speak or move without strong necessity. The hospital train was expected shortly, and so the Base Hospital had been cleared, as far as possible, for the wounded from the front. Everybody was resting in preparation for stress of work; and only two orderlies were left on duty in the ward, one of whom was writing home an account of “our ripping victory,” while the other was busy knitting a large striped sock. In the bed next to the table where they sat lay a young officer with a badly smashed knee. His eyes watched the progress of the sock with the weary fascination of illness. His ears drummed with the doctor’s mandate: “Leg or life—leg or life—leg or life.” He could hardly decide which was the worse alternative; for he was a polo player, a big game hunter, and a racquet champion. But, as he had informed the doctor, he “believed the dear old mother would rather have threequarters of him than none at all”; so the operation was to be performed in the morning, and he wondered vaguely if he would die under the chloroform, or come out of it to be a cripple for life. By-and-bye, the orderly rolled up his sock, washed his patients, and set the ward to rights. The hospital train was due, and its arrival was heralded by the return of the nursing sister and the eight orderlies for night relief. The Sister came up to the officer’s bedside, and spoke to him with cheery voice and smile. “How do you feel. Captain Mansfield? As comfortable as we can make you?” He smiled back at her rather ruefully, and said he was “All right.” “You know I’m going away to-morrow,” she went on. “I must say good-bye to you to-night. I’m ordered up to the Field Hospital, and the Sister who has been there has come down with the train to take my place. Here they are.” The steady train of stretcher-bearers sounded through the ward, and the Sister moved away to give her quiet directions. To Phil Mansfield the procession of those stretchers seemed almost endless. Some passed through the room to another ward beyond, some went up with their burdens to the empty beds within view. All marched steadily and quietly, yet set down their load with a little gentle thud which spoke of relief. Doctors appeared on the scene at the same moment, and in perfect order the work began. Phil Mansfield shut his eyes upon the scene, with a heavy sigh and a slight frown of pain. He heard a stretcher set down by his bedside, and was conscious that somebody was very slowly and carefully laid on the empty cot at his right. As the unconscious figure was moved, a little sealed packet slid from his pocket to the ground, and lay there unnoticed; while the work of doctors and orderlies went steadily forward. By-and-bye, there was a lull. Everybody was settled for the night, and the doctors went away. In the quietness an orderly saw the little packet lying between the two cots, and, lifting it up, carried it to the light of the lamp to read the address. “What is it?” asked one of his companions. “It’s Captain Mansfield’s—a letter he’s dropped.” The orderly went hack to the bedside, and, an the Captain’s eyes were closed, laid the packet near his pillow. "What is it? Not more milk? Thank goodness I’m not to have any to-night,” murmured Phil, half-opening his eyes. “No, sir. It’s only a letter you’ve dropped.” “A letter?” The Captain’s face turned wearily on his pillow towards the light, and he put out his hand for the packet. “I’ve not got any letters,” he •aid. “It must be .that other chap’s.’’ “It has your name on it, sir.” ; “Let me see.”

Yes, it had his name on it, sure enough. The handwriting sent a thrill al! along hie wearied suffering nerves. “Give me a light, orderly,” he exclaimed, with excitement. “I can’t see in this confounded dimness.” The orderly hesitated; and at that moment the medical officer for the night came up between the beds, and spoke in tones of authority. “Captain Mansfield, you must not excite yourself like this. You’ll be fit for nothing to-morrow, and you want your strength.” “Fenn, I say, Fenn, I must have a light. I must read this letter. It’s—it’s—l mean, I know the writing.” The doctor looked at him keenly, and then made a sign to the orderly to bring a lamp. Phil Mansfield broke the seal of the packet with shaking fingers; and Fenn turned away for a minute or two to speak in low tones to the sister in charge. When he came back to the Captain’s bedside, his patient was propped up on one elbow, staring with crimson cheeks and dilated eyes, at the motionless figure in the next bed'. “I say—l can only see the back of his head! Who is he?”

“Lie down, and I’ll tell you.’* The doctor laid him hack with gentle strength, and then read the card at the head of the cot on the right. “Gerald Morris, Captain.” “Ah! I thought-so.*’ . ■ Phil shut his eyds tight for a moment, and frowned heavily. Then he opened them again and demanded: “Is he bad?” “He’s shot through the lungs. Is he a friend?” “A friend! Good God, no! Will he die?” “I think so. The doctor was watching Captain Mansfield, closely and anxiously. - “Look here,” he said, "I'm going to inject morphia into your arm in a minute or two, for I want you to go to sleep. Is there anything you want to tell me first, for that poor chap may be conscious for a bit during the night.” Phil’s feverish eyes blazed. “If he is, tell him I know. And ” “Yes. And what else?” “And that —confound it!—l forgive him! Here, stick in your syringe!” He flung out a thin arm', sunburnt still up to a certain line on the wrist. The doctor inserted the hypodermic syringe daintily, and slowly drove the morphia under the skin. Then he stood up to move away. “You won’t think about things, now, will you?” he said. “You know it’s imperative for you to get some sleep.” “All right,” was Phil’s only attempt at a promise. But he was very still under his bedi-quilt; and the doctor moved off, satisfied. The Sister was bending over the cot of “Gerald Morris, Captain”; and Fenn joined her for a few moments in her anxious survey. “We can’t do anything, for him,” he said. “Call me if he tries to speak.”

But he neter tried to speak* and when Phil Mansfield awoke at dawn, the bed on the right hand side was empty. “I say, Fenn, when does my turn' come?” he asked rather faintly, as the yotrng surgeon enme up to him again on his morning roand. “Very soon now. They’ll be here in ten minutes to take you to the operat-ing-room.” “Then I’d better leave a message—in case 1 don’t pull round, you know. That letter —last —night—it was from a girl I was engaged to three years ago.” “Well?” “We quarrelled—oh, you know ! You know the whole silly business! Then I was sent out on tills business. I hadn't written for months, and she—poor little darling—she put her pride in her pocket, and wrote first. That’s the way women love, Fenn. That was the letter, last night. She gave it to Morris to bring out for her two years ago. When he joined he never said a word about it.” “Why did he keep it back?” “He liked her himself-—d’ye see? And now the letter’s here—and it’s just two years too late.” The doctor laid a cool quiet hand on the feverish restless fingers that pulled the bed quilt. “You want —?” “I want someone—if I die—to write to her and explain. Good God! I wonder why he saved it at all?” “He may have had some idea of restitution. He may have decided a hundred times to give it to you, and then changed his mind. One can’t tell.” “No,” said Phil drearily, “one can’t. Is that stretcher for me, Fenn?” “Aye, to be sure. Now, in a few hours,’ I hope to see you comfortable.” “And—if not-—the name and address arc there!” “Right! But you’ll be able to tell her yourself, you’ll see.”

The noon gun had sounded before Captain Mansfield fully understood that he Was back in his cot again, without his shattered leg. And then be became aware that Dr. Fenn was sitting on the bed Watching him, with a queer anxious pleased look on his face. As the dazed eyes met the inquiring glance of the Burgeon, Fenn laid his lingers lightly on Mansfield’s wrist. , “Better now, old chap?” “I may be better. I feel as sick as a dog.” “It’s only the chloroform. You’ll be all right in an hour or two." “What are you doing here?” asked Phil feebly. “Am I supposed to be in danger ?” “Danger, fiddlesticks! I’m here to give you a bit of news.” Phil opened his eyes more comprehendingly. His first thought was that something had come of that honourable mention in despatches, a month ago. “Do you know who our new sister is—the one who came down with the train last night?” demanded the doctor, still Watching him pretty keenly. “Haven’t an idea. Has she come on duty ?” “Aye. She’s down there —a pretty girl with green eyes and brown hair.” “Green eyes?” “Well, hazel, if you like. I call ’em green. They’re the sort mermaids ought to have—big, and clear, and sparkling, phe says she’s an old friend.” Mansfield’s eyelids flew up, and he elutched at the bedclothes with feverish hands. “What d’ye mean?” he grunted. “I’m too sick to talk. You’d better tell me ((Cutright. “Well, it’s Sister Gertrude Wilson. 'And—look here!—l’ve just mentioned the delay of that letter. So you needn’t have any explanations or anything till the chloroform’s out of you. I’ve stayed put of my bed to tell you, so you owe me (Something, in the way of caution.” Phil’s great eyes were fixed upon his face, in a petrified stare. , “She wasn’t in the nursing service,” no gasped. “She was a girl who played tennis, you know, and wore chignons, •nd went to balls. Confound it! 1 wish everything wouldn’t wobble up and down.” “They won’t, if you shut your eyes and go to sleep. But there’s no mistake. Women turn nurses much in the same desperate way as men turn heroes, you know. Would you like her to come and •peak to you?” The Captain nodded, began once more to twist up the bedclothes, and wished heartily that he were not too weak to IWipe away the foolish tears that had •tarted out on his eyelashes. He shivered with nervousness to the tips of his toes—more especially those toes which he knew the doctors had cut off. Then the silly tears rolled away from his lashes on to his cheeks, and, through the felurr of the strange and unexpected Weeping, he saw a well-remembered face, With neat cap-strings that were tied in • rather rakish little bow under the chin. “Gertrude!” he faltered, “Gertrude!” And Sister Gertrude Wilson, with a •mile for him, an apologetic glance for the doctor, and a sublime indifference for interested orderlies, bent down her face, •nd completed their reconciliation.