The Luck of the Mounted Part 29

"Hullo!" said the latter inquiringly, as he remarked the little nurse's flushed, angry face. "What's up, Sister Marthe?"

For answer, that irate lady pointed accusingly to McCullough. That worthy, his questionable experiment accomplished, was retreating up the corridor as fast as his crutches could carry him.

"First, Docteur," began the nurse indignantly, "'e blow smoke in ze eye of ze parrot, then 'e turn roun' to _pauvre_ M'sieu 'Ardy an' 'e sing--oh, I 'ave not ze English, but 'e _blague_ 'im so--

"_Vieux soldats ne meurent! jamais! jamais! jamais!

Vieux soldats ne meurent jamais!--ils simplement pa.s.sent!_"

"An' M'sieu 'Ardy 'e say: 'Vat about?' an' then 'e raise 'is two 'ands e Ciel--so! an' 'e tell Le Bon Dieu all about it. Oh, 'ow 'e pray!

Ecoutez! Docteur! you can 'ear 'im now! . . ."

And awhile Doctor Sampson listened, a grim smile lurking around the corners of his firm mouth, as he leaned against the open door of the ward.

"Praying, Sister?" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "It's the queerest kind of praying I've ever heard. But is it him--or is it the parrot?"

Two days later he remarked to the O.C. and Kilbride: "I'm glad to be able to report a decided improvement in that man Hardy's condition. His pulse is stronger, his appet.i.te is increasing and--he's beginning to grouse.

That old ruffian of a farrier-corporal, McCullough, was right, begad!--he knew the man better than I did. As a general rule I'm inclined to be rather sceptical of such drastic experiments, but in certain cases, er--"

"Something of the sort might be beneficial if applied to young Redmond, too," remarked the O.C., testily. "He's down in the dumps now; though to give him his due . . . he tries hard not to show it whenever I happen to be in the hospital. Dudley, my Orderly-room sergeant, is leaving next month--time-expired--so I thought I was conferring a great favour on the boy by promising him the step-up--good staff appointment--give him a chance to recuperate thoroughly. But no!--my young gentleman courteously declines my munificent offer. Nothing must serve him but he must go back to me Irish 'ginthleman' and that d----d dissipated scamp of a Yorke."

"It's the spirit of comrades.h.i.+p," remarked Kilbride quietly. "If I might suggest, Sir, . . . I think it would be better if you do decide to let him go back there. They pull well together and do good work, those three."

"'Ullo, Reddy!" called out Constable Hardy, as he directed his wobbly steps towards the bench on the hospital balcony where George was seated, "'ow long 'ave you bin up 'ere? Th' O.C. an' Kilbride was round jes'

now. You didn't see 'em, eh?"

"No," answered Redmond listlessly. And thereupon he relapsed into moody silence.

"Wy, wot's up?" enquired Hardy presently, scanning the other's downcast countenance. "Wot's th' matter wiv you, son? . . . you don't look 'appy! . . ."

"You bet I'm not, either!" burst out George suddenly. "The Old Man's offered me Dudley's job, but I don't want a staff job. I want to go back to Davidsburg. Who cares to be stuck around the Post?"

"Me for one!" retorted the old soldier grinning, "Jes' now, anyway.

Listen, son! Th' Old Man 'e sez to me: ''Ardy!' 'e sez, 'you've bin 'it pretty bad and I find you deserve a softer cla.s.s of dewty than goin' back t' prisoner's escort. I think I'll recommend you for Provo'-Sorjint, in charge o' th' Guard-room, w'en you're able t' return t' dewty,' 'e sez."

With an effort Redmond roused himself to the point of congratulating the c.o.c.kney upon his prospective promotion. He had no desire to act as a wet blanket on such an auspicious occasion as this, his own troubles notwithstanding.

"That ain't all," continued Hardy, with a gloating chuckle. "Th' Old Man, 'e sez 'Belt's bein' invalided, McCullough's gettin' 'is third stripe, an' Dyvis is goin' dahn t' th' Corp'ril's Cla.s.s at Regina, but that there young Redmond worries me! I don't know wot t' do abaht 'im,'

'e sez--jes' like that--sorter kind-like--not a bit like th' O.C. o' a Division torkin' t' a buck private.

"'Beg yer pardon, Sir!' I sez, 'but if you let 'im go back t' Dyvidsburg I fink 'e'll be quite contented. Seems like 'e wants t' be wiv Sorjint Slavin an' Constable Yorke agin.'

"'Fink so?' sez 'e, pullin' 'is oweld moustache, 'I sure do, Sir,' I sez.

'So be it, then!' 'e sez, turnin' t' Kilbride, but th' Inspector 'e sez nothin':--'e on'y larfs. An' then they went away."

Redmond, giving vent to a delighted oath, came out of his sulks on the instant.

"Hardy!" he cried, "you're a gentleman! . . ."

"Nay!" was the other's disclaimer. "A dranken oweld soweljer, son . . .

that's all."

But Redmond heard him not. With elbows resting upon the balcony-rail he was looking beyond the Elbow Bridge, beyond s.h.a.gnappi Point--westwards to Davidsburg, his face registering the supreme content of a man who had just attained his heart's desire.