"Whatever it is," said the surgeon, "I wouldn't pronounce an opinion on
your conduct...."
"By heavens, you had better not," burst out D'Hubert.
"There! There! Don't be so quick in flourishing the sword. It doesn't
pay in the long run. Understand once for all that I would not carve any
of you youngsters except with the tools of my trade. But my advice is
good. Moderate your temper. If you go on like this you will make for
yourself an ugly reputation."
"Go on like what?" demanded Lieutenant D'Hubert, stopping short,
quite startled. "I! I! make for myself a reputation.... What do you
imagine----"
"I told you I don't wish to judge of the rights and wrongs of this
incident. It's not my business. Nevertheless...."
"What on earth has he been telling you?" interrupted Lieutenant D'Hubert
in a sort of awed scare.
"I told, you already that at first when I picked him up in the garden
he was incoherent. Afterwards he was naturally reticent. But I gather at
least that he could not help himself...."
"He couldn't?" shouted Lieutenant D'Hubert. Then lowering his voice,
"And what about me? Could I help myself?"
The surgeon rose. His thoughts were running upon the flute, his constant
companion, with a consoling voice. In the vicinity of field ambulances,
after twenty-four hours' hard work, he had been known to trouble with
its sweet sounds the horrible stillness of battlefields given over
to silence and the dead. The solacing hour of his daily life was
approaching and in peace time he held on to the minutes as a miser to
his hoard.
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