"That was their intention, I presume?" "Your presumption is correct, Sir. The doctor finished the job before Charlie come to again. Smart, wasn't it?" "Very smart indeed." "But that's nothing. Nothing at all to what he could do. He once cut a fellow open, took out his liver, extracted twenty-three shrapnel bullets from it, bounced it on the floor to see it was all right, and put it back, all inside of three minutes. And the fellow what owns the liver hasn't had a to-morrow morning head-ache once since." "He must be a very clever doctor," suggested the other, to fill in a pause. "Talking of doctors," James went on, "reminds me of a man I saw out there who wasn't a doctor, leastways not one of ours. We was in the fire-trenches one night when a voice hails us from the other side of the entanglements. After the usual questions we brings him over the parapet, and he explains to our Sub that he's been in front attending to some wounded men in a listening post what was blown up. All perfectly correct and proper; gives his name and rank, too, and is wearing an R.A.M.C. uniform--rank, Captain. As he passes me on his way to the Sub's dug-out I happens to catch sight of his face, and it give me quite a shock. I was took ill immediate. I manages to stagger to the dug-out, and I mutters hoarsely, 'Sir, I'm sick. I think I'm going to die.' "'Sick?' says the Sub. 'You don't look sick.' "'I'm sorry, Sir,' I says. "'Well,' says he, turning to the other man, 'the Captain here will soon put you right.' "'Certainly,' says the Doc very sharp. 'Where do you feel pain--stomach, heart, head?' "'No, Sir,' says I, 'I got a nawful pain in me inn'erds.' "'What did you say?' he asks. "'In me inn'erds, Sir,' I says, 'spreading from me gizzard to me probossis,' them being the only out-of-the-way words I could think of off-hand. "'H'm,' says he, pretending to understand perfectly, 'it is probably nothing serious. You must diet yourself; take nothing but light food and----' "Here the Sub interrupts him, thinking there's something mighty queer about a doctor what is so ready to prescribe diet for a probossis, and asks him a lot more questions. Of course the beer was in the sawdust then, and very soon a guard was called up to take our German Captain Doctor Spy away to a safe place. "It was lucky I knew his face. Before perfidjus Albion forced this war on the poor KAYSER I'd seen him often in London. He was boss of a firm above the place where I worked, and he used to order his Huns about in their own language, and chuck his empty lager bottles out of his window into our yard. I'm glad I got my own back for that." "Jim," cried an orderly, "you're wanted for your dressing." James rose languidly. "That means na-poo, then, Sir," he said. "Na-poo?" echoed the _Gazette_. "Where's your learning, Sir?" asked James. "That's French for 'no more.'" "I hope your dressing will not be painful," ventured the other.