"Appendicitis, acute--abdomen closed," says P----. "If you had not added _abdomen closed_," says R----, "would one be at liberty to infer it had been left open?" "Get your head read!" says P----.... The orderly passes on. "What's this, sir?" "Damn you! Can't you see I'm busy?" K---- is boring, with all the strength of his massive shoulders, into the skull of his case. Trephining is, literally, hard work; but not that alone. L---- is cutting, cutting, cutting, at the buttock of the wretch, paring the hideous gas gangrene as one would pare the rottenness from an apple. A third surgeon is probing for bomb splinters in rear of the thigh; and getting them. The man is splintered all over. For one horrible moment you conceive him as suddenly and treacherously deprived of unconsciousness, with ---- boring here to the brain membrane, ---- slicing generously at his buttock, and ---- probing relentlessly to the bone in the gaping incision. "Well, it certainly looks as though we are doing what we like," says ----. "It _is_ rather bloody; yet the C.O. says the most revolting operation to watch is that of the removal of a finger-nail." "If we go much further, he'll drop his subconscious ire upon us," says ----. "Yes, I suppose his subconsciousness is protesting in blasphemous silence: '_Pourquoi_'?" "Stitches, Sister," says ----, at the head. The blood-clot has flowed; and in a twinkling the triangular exposure of skull is covered by the stitched scalp. "He'll be easier," says ----. And then begins the tabulation of his multiple wounds. They cover half a page. It's a miracle of symbolism which can suggest all that man has suffered (and has yet to suffer) in the handwriting of half a page.... "Clear, thank God!" says ----, as Multiple Wounds is borne out insensible half an hour later. "It's eleven, and I've been here since the middle of the morning; and I could almost sleep. Good-night, Sister! I'm off." So they go to the freezing dampness of their camp stretchers. The orderlies set about "cleaning up."