"I'd like to hear 'em.
I'd like to see somebody get fresh. Why, SAY!"--he clenched his
powerful hands--"I'd fill their hospitals until they bulged."
After a moment he continued: "I s'pose it's natural for you to
worry, since you're responsible for her being here, in a way, but-
-" His tone changed, he relaxed and lay back in his hammock. "Oh,
well, you're about the only man I can't hate."
"Jealous, are you? I didn't know you were in so deep."
The other shook his head. "Oh, I'm daffy. D'you think she'd have
me?"
"Not a chance."
"Hey? Why not? I'm a good big husky--I'll get a Government job
when the war is over and---"
"That's just the trouble. She'll fall for some poor, sickly
unfortunate, with one leg. She's the sort that always does. She's
the sort that has to have something to 'mother.' Lord, I'd give a
good deal to see her safely back in New York!"
Judson, it seemed, had a better understanding of artillery than of
women; he pondered O'Reilly's statement seriously, and his face
clouded.
"Some sickly fellow. Some fellow like Branch, eh?" After a moment
he continued, more hopefully: "Well, it won't be HIM; he'll soon
be dead. There's some consolation in that. I could almost--"
O'Reilly motioned for silence, for at that moment Branch himself
approached, his long face set in lines of discontent, even deeper
than usual.
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