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“His breathing is perfect, I do not think
we need have any great anxiety about him,”
said the Doctor smilingly. “It does one’s
ears good to hear that snoring. I think the
best thing we can do is to let him have his
nap. I will come back to him by and by.”
“He has a marvellous appetite,” said the
Mayor, “and is always ready for a glass of
wine, and has no objection to a drop of
brandy either.”
“I quite believe you,” said the Doctor,
“but the fine thing about Tommy is that
he is just as cheerful when he doesn’t get it.”
“He has just eaten a whole pot of
marmalade,” said the nun.
“I wonder how he came here,” said the
Doctor; “it is nearly thirty kilometres as
the crow flies to the English line, but there
are stragglers about everywhere.”
“As far as I could gather,” said the Mayor,
“from something he muttered in, if you
allow me to say so, most shocking French,
he had been taken prisoner by the Boches
and had managed to escape.”
“Well done, and good luck for him that
he fell in with your troops. Tell me when
he wakes up,” said the Doctor to the nun.
* *
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