YOU SEE, AS MY 'USBAND
SEZ, AN' VERY REASONABLE TOO, A MOVIN' TARGIT IS MORE DIFFICULT TO
'IT."]
* * * * *
THE OLD FORMULA.
Private Brown lay upon his pillows thoughtfully sucking the new pencil
given him by his mate in the next bed. Propped against the cradle that
covered his shattered knee was a pad, to which a sheet of paper had
been fixed, and he was about to write a letter to his wife.
It was plainly to be an effort, for apart from the fact that he was
never a scholar there was the added uncertainty of his long disused
right hand to be reckoned with; but at last he grasped the pencil with
all the firmness he could muster and began:--
"DEAR WIFE,--I got your letter about Jim he ought to gone long ago,
shirking I calls it. This hospital is very nice and when you come down
from London youll see all the flowers and the gramophone which is a
fair treat. My wounds is slow and I often gets cramp."
No sooner was the fatal word written than the fingers of his right
hand began to stiffen, the pencil fell upon the bed, then rolled
dejectedly to the floor, where the writer said it might stay for
all he cared.
"You must let me finish the letter," said I, when his hand had been
rubbed and tucked away in a warm mitten.
"Thank you, Miss; I was getting on nicely, and there's not much more
to say," he returned ruefully, scanning the wavering lines before him.
Pages:
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34