I had no more trouble with him. Thomas got well, in the course of a month, left off drinking, and got to be a pretty sensible sort of fellow. The last time I saw him was one day, some months after I had left the hospital, when I returned to the old place on a brief visit. He was engaged in a four-hand game of euchre, and I observed, just as I arrived, that he held in his hand both bowers, ace, king and queen: would you believe it?——he had the temerity to play it “alone,” and the extraordinarily good luck to make “four times.” CHAPTER IV. LOCKED UP. THE inmates of the hospital were allowed passes, after roll-call in the morning, to go into the city, or whither they pleased; but it was imperative that they should return by half-past seven in the evening, positively, without fail. One morning, as usual, I got a pass to go into the city, and as the Doctor handed it to me, he said: “Don’t fail to be back at half-past seven.” “I won’t,” I replied, with the best intentions in the world. As new patients arrived almost every day, some of whom might be ignorant of the rules and regulations, the Doctor had got into the habit of repeating this injunction every time he gave out a pass; and as he gave, on an average, about one hundred and fifty per day, Sundays excluded, he must, in the course of a year, have said, “Don’t fail to return by half-past seven,” forty-six thousand nine hundred and fifty times. I had just stepped from the street-car in the heart of the city, when I ran squarely against one of the boys of my own regiment, whom I had not seen since the battle of Antietam. “Hallo, Charlie!” I exclaimed, delighted to see the familiar face of my comrade; “what are you doing here?” “I have been in the Chestnut Hill Hospital,” was his reply, as we shook hands. “I was wounded at Fredericksburg, and am just well enough now to return to the regiment: I go to Washington to-day. What are _you_ doing here?” “I am staying at Haddington Hospital,” I returned, “waiting to have a Palmer leg fitted on me that is made of willow, and only weighs three ounces and a half.” “Come and go to Washington with me,” he said, as the thought appeared to strike him. (It struck me rather forcibly about the same time, I confess.) “I couldn’t—I—I—” “Why couldn’t you?” “Because I only have a pass till evening.” “Oh, that will make no difference. They will hardly be so strict with the cripples.” “When do you go?” I asked, thoughtfully. “At eleven o’clock.” “Where is the regiment?” “Lying at Upton’s Hill. Come—you’ll go with me!” “I might get into trouble,” I said, wavering. “I only have a pass till half-past seven, and if I should go away and stay whole days——” “O, pshaw! They wouldn’t care. You have no duty to perform there.” “No, but——” “O, come,” he urged—all I wanted was a little urging—“the boys would be so glad to see you! You don’t know how they felt about your losing a leg at Antietam!”