It
can't be 'im!" until an indignant Hospital Orderly whisked him away.
If care of man and desire to live could have done aught, Bobby would have been
saved. As it was, he made a fight of three days, and the Surgeon-Major's brow
uncreased. "We'll save him yet," he said; and the Surgeon, who, though he
ranked with the Captain, had a very youthful heart, went out upon the word and
pranced joyously in the mud.
"Not going out this journey," whispered Bobby Wick, gallantly, at the end of
the third day.
"Bravo!" said the Surgeon-Major. "That's the way to look at it, Bobby."
As evening fell a grey shade gathered round Bobby's mouth, and he turned his
face to the tent wall wearily. The Surgeon-Major frowned.
"I'm awfully tired," said Bobby, very faintly. "What's the use of bothering me
with medicine? I-don't-want-it. Let me alone."
The desire for life had departed, and Bobby was content to drift away on the
easy tide of Death.
"It's no good," said the Surgeon-Major. "He doesn't want to live. He's meeting
it, poor child." And he blew his nose.
Half a mile away, the regimental band was playing the overture to the Sing-
song, for the men had been told that Bobby was out of danger. The clash of the
brass and the wail of the horns reached Bobby's ears.
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