“We shall have time for breakfast, this morning,” he said, “as we are likely to have a little peace now; for yesterday we sent the enemy to the right about face with a kick! But all the same we’ve got orders to hold ourselves in readiness to move at a moment’s notice, Captain.” “Lieutenant sir,” I corrected. “You forget.” “No,” said my colonel, “you’ve been promoted. We all agree that you deserved it, for the fight you put up when you were captured. Captain Cross has been promoted to be major.” “I am ready to begin fighting right now,” I said, blushing with pride in spite of myself; “but I don’t know how I shall fill a _captain’s_ place, though I suppose that I can walk around in it.” “Oh, that will come,” said my colonel, “and you can study up a little while you are on permission. I have been promoted too: Brevet Brigadier if that is promotion.” “Fine!” I said. “I guess I will stay with the company and learn my duties; but I’d like to get this hole in my arm fixed up a little.” “Wounded! I hadn’t noticed it; why didn’t you mention it before? Here, orderly, show the captain the way to the surgeon’s station.” Then looking at my arm from which I had removed the bandage, preparatory to putting on a clean one, he said, “Whew! It’s gangrened; you can’t go on duty in that shape!” I went to the station slowly and sorrowfully, for I had looked for plentiful _chow_, and my experience told me that a surgeon was likely to put me on short rations. I had had, heaven knows, enough of that while in Bocheland to last me the rest of my life, and I was not anxious for its continuance under a sawbone. I should not have cared so much, had I thought it needful; but I _knew_ that plenty of food was good for me--all theories of doctors notwithstanding. I found several letters from home folks, and also one from Emily Grant that delighted me. Its contents were enough to make a less susceptible heart than mine beat fast. Sentiments and feelings that had almost been starved out of me were revived and, when General Burbank suggested that I go to the hospital where Doctor Rich was in charge, I fear I consented rather too willingly; though I did want to get at those Boches again. But as the colonel had said that the division was to go to another sector for rest, I was the more willing. When I first reported to the hospital the doctor didn’t seem to know me. He examined my wound, sniffed at it, grumbled out something about inflammation and ulceration, and a little of his camouflage Latin, then directed his assistant to apply caustic with such calm indifference to my wishes, that I had an inclination to bang his eye. And then he fussed some more while giving directions to his assistant, until I was out of patience with him. “What dunce,” he said, “has been fooling with this wound?” “No dunce at all, sir,” I replied, “but as good a surgeon as you are. Only he didn’t have the stuff to care for it as you have. Like myself, the Boches had him.”