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“Where?” asked the soldier, with
unexpected eagerness. “And the guns?”
“I do not remember, I get so mixed up
with the names,” said the Doctor. “I
understand you were taken prisoner. How
did that happen?”
“I was left alone in a trench with ten
other men. We fought to the last, all the
others were killed, and they took me prisoner,
but I shot seven Boches first.”
“Well done. Did you say seven?”
“Yes, seven.”
“How did you escape?”
“I am so tired,” complained the soldier,
getting very feeble in the voice.
“Have a smoke,” said the Doctor, taking
a cigarette from his pocket. “It is true we are
in a church, but smoking has now once for
all been accepted in all ambulances, and I
take the responsibility of letting you have
a puff at a cigarette.”
“No, thank you.”
“Can’t a Woodbine tempt you?”
“What?” asked the soldier.
“A Woodbine. You don’t mean to say
you don’t know what a Woodbine is? If so
you are the only man in His Majesty’s
Expeditionary Force who doesn’t know it.”
“I do not smoke,” said the man.
“Don’t you?” said the Doctor, his eyes
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