"
Branch nodded. "I thought of that, but I've gained a reputation
that I don't deserve and, strangely enough, I'm madly jealous of
it. I thought if I were really shot by a regular bullet I'd be
mourned as a hero and have a chance to walk out with colors
flying. I want to tell my children, if I ever have any, what a
glorious man I was and how I helped to free Cuba. Oh, I'd lie like
a thief to my own children! Now you see why I don't want a doctor.
There's only one thing I want--and that's--HOME." Leslie heaved a
deep sigh. "Gee! I'm homesick."
"So am I," Norine feelingly declared. "I think I understand how
you feel and I can't blame you for wanting to live, now that
you've learned what a splendid thing life is."
"If O'Reilly had been with me I think I could have managed,
somehow, for he would have understood, too. I--I'll never go back
to the front, alone--they can shoot me, if they want to. Have you
heard anything from him?"
"Not a word. Cuba swallowed him up. Oh, Leslie, it is a cruel
country! It is taking the best and the youngest. I--want to go
away."
He smiled mirthlessly. "I'm fed up on it, too. I want to be where
I can shave when I need to and wear something besides canvas
pajamas. I'm cured of war; I want a policeman to stop the traffic
and help me across the street. I want to put my feet under a
breakfast-table, rustle a morning paper, and slap an egg in the
face.
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