At last Dick was shipped to Blighty and admitted to a hospital for convalescent Canadian officers. There Capt. J. A. Starkley-Davenport soon found him. No change that the eye could detect had taken place in Jack Davenport. His face was as thin and colorless as when Dick had first seen it; his eyes were just as bright, and their glances as kindly and intent; his body was as frail and as immaculately garbed. Dick wondered how one so frail could exist a week without either breaking utterly or gaining in strength. "You're a wonder, Dick!" exclaimed Davenport. "It strikes me that you are the wonder," said Dick. "But they tell me that you stopped a whiz-bang and will be as fit as ever, nerve and body, in a little while." "I stopped bits of it--but I don't think it actually detonated on me. All I got was some of the splash. I was lucky!" "You were indeed," said the other, with a shadow in his eyes. "I was lucky, too--though there have been times when I have been fool enough to wish that I had been left on the field." Then he straightened his thin shoulders and laughed quietly. "But if I had gone west I should have missed Frank Sacobie and Hiram Sill. They lunched with me last week and have promised to turn up on Sunday. You'll be right for Sunday, Dick, and I'll have a pucka party in your honor." "How are they, and what are they up to?" asked Dick. "They are at the top of their form, both of them, and up to anything," replied Davenport. "Your Canadian cadet course is the stiffest thing of its kind in England, but it doesn't seem to bother those two. Frank is smarter than anything the Guards can show and is believed to be a rajah; and Hiram writes letters to Washington urging the formation of an American division to be attached to the Canadian Corps and suggesting his appointment to the command of one of the brigades." "Those letters must amuse the censors," said Dick with a grin. "I imagine they do. Washington hasn't answered yet; and so Hiram is getting his dander up and is pitching each letter a little higher than the one before it. Incidentally, he has a great deal to say to our War Office, and his novel suggestions for developing trench warfare seem to have awakened a variety of emotions in the brains and livers of a lot of worthy _brass hats_." Dick laughed. "What are his ideas for developing trench warfare?" "One is the organization of a shot-gun platoon in every battalion. The weapon is to be the duck gun, number eight bore, I believe. Hiram maintains that, used within a range of one hundred and fifty yards, those weapons would be superior to any in repulsing attacks in mass and in cleaning up raided trenches. He is a great believer in the deadly and demoralizing effects of point-blank fire." "He is right in that--once you get rid of the parapet."