"
The young fellow reddened. "I'm awfully sorry, sir. I withdraw the
word 'shady.' But this poor chap has something on his mind, and
everyone has a down on him. He led a dog's life till he was
knocked out, and he has been leading a worse one since. I don't
call it fair." He looked at me squarely out of his young blue
eyes--the lucky devil, he is commanding his regiment now in
Flanders, with the D.S.O. ribbon on his tunic. "Will you come with
me and see him, sir?"
"Certainly," said I, for I had nothing to do, and the boy's
earnestness impressed me.
On our way he told me of such mixture of rumour and fact as he was
acquainted with. It was then that I heard the man Somers's name
for the first time. We entered the hospital, sat by the side of
the man's bed, and he told us the story of Vilboek's Farm which I
have, in bald terms, just related. Shortly afterwards I returned
to the front, where the famous shell knocked me out of the Army
forever.
What has happened to Somers I don't know. He was, I learned, soon
afterwards discharged from the Army. He either died or disappeared
in the full current of English life. Perhaps he is with our armies
now.
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