At first they talked hospitals. Then regiments. Then Haig, of whom it has so finely and finally been said, by another British hero: "'Aig 'e don't say much; 'e don't, so to say, say nothin'; but what 'e don't say don't mean nothin', not 'arf. But when 'e do say something--my Gawd!" Then they came to grips and mentioned the cause of their injuries--bullet or shrapnel. Then the time and the place. Both had been hit in the knee, and this coincidence, operating like all coincidences, added to their friendliness. Their cigarettes finishing simultaneously, Ginger gave Six-foot-two one of his; and Six-foot-two offered his little packet to Ginger in exchange. "Do you often come here?" Ginger asked. "Every fine day," said Six-foot-two, "unless there's a ride in a brake or a free matinee on the tappy." "I must look you up again," said Ginger. "Do," said Six-foot-two. "When do you expect to leave?" "I can't say," replied Ginger. "There's no knowing. You see mine's a very extraordinary case." He smiled complacently. "That's funny. So's mine," said Six-foot-two. "How do you mean--extraordinary?" the other asked a little sharply. "Why, the doctors have had so much difficulty with it. It's a unique, they say. How many operations did you have?" "How many did you have?" Ginger replied, with the caution of the challenged. "Go on--I asked you first," said Six-foot-two. "Was it more than eight, anyway?" "It was ten," said Ginger. "Well, I had eleven," said Six-foot-two proudly. "They went after those bullets eleven times. But they're all out now. I had every doctor in the place round me." "So did I," said Ginger, "and one of my bullets isn't out yet. It's right in the bone. They're going to try again soon." He had quite recovered his good-humour. "What about your patella?" Six-foot-two inquired after a pause. "My what?" "Your patella. Do you mean to say the doctors didn't talk about that?" "I dare say they may have done, but I don't remember. Still, _our_ doctors don't talk much--they act." "Well, so do ours. There aren't better doctors in the world than at our place, I can tell you. It's common knowledge. Why, Sir Rashleigh Hewitt is there every day--the great Sir Rashleigh Hewitt, the King's doctor." "Well, the King has more than one. Sir Frank Carver is another, and he's at our place day and night. He's a masterpiece." "I've always understood," said Six-foot-two, "that Sir Rashleigh is at the very head of his profession. The nurses say so." "He may be for some things," Ginger conceded. "But not the knee. Sir Frank Carver is the crack knee man. Now if you'd been at our place I dare say that one operation would have been enough for you." "Enough? What rot! How could it be enough, with all the complications? I tell you it's a unique, my case." "Yes, it may be. But what I'm getting at is that it might not be if you'd had Sir Frank Carver, the great knee specialist, at it at once."