He still
had two days' leave of absence, and, as he truly pointed out, in Paris
even in war time five francs will not carry you far. I offered to be his
banker, but he said he would first try elsewhere. The next day I met
him on the boulevards and asked what kind of a riotous existence he
found possible on five francs.
"I've had the most extraordinary luck," he said. "After I left you I met
my brother. He was just in from the front, and I got all his money."
"Won't your brother need it?" I asked.
"Not at all," said the subaltern cheerfully. "He's shot in the legs, and
they've put him to bed. Rotten luck for him, you might say, but how
lucky for me!"
Had he been the brother who was shot in both legs he would have
treated the matter just as light-heartedly.
One English major, before he reached his own firing-line, was hit by a
bursting shell in three places. While he was lying in the American
ambulance hospital at Neuilly the doctor said to him:
"This cot next to yours is the only one vacant. Would you object if we
put a German in it?"
"By no means," said the major; "I haven't seen one yet.
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