"I hope to
have him back in France in a few days. William's in bad
shape still. I had a London surgeon go and look at him.
I told him not to mind the expense but to get William
fixed up right away. It seems that one arm is more or
less paralysed. I've wired back to him not to hesitate.
They say William's blood is still too thin for the
operation. I've cabled to them to take some of Henry's.
I hate to do it, but this is no time to stick at anything."
A little later William and Henry were reported both back
in France. This was at the very moment of the great
offensive. But Spugg went about his daily business unmoved.
Then came the worst news of all. "William and Henry," he
said to me, "are both missing. I don't know where the
devil they are."
"Missing?" I repeated.
"Both of them. The Germans have caught them both. I
suppose I shan't have either of them back now till the
war is all over."
He gave a slight sigh,--the only sign of complaint that
ever I had heard come from him.
But the next day we learned what was Spugg's answer to
the German's capture of William and Henry.
"Have you heard what Spugg is doing?" the members of the
club asked one another.
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