"
A delicate shade in the man's tone and manner caught at my heart.
Perhaps it was the remotest fraction of a glance at my rug-covered
legs, the pleased recognition of my recognition, ... perhaps some
queer freemasonry of the old Army.
"You seem to be in trouble, boy," said I. "Tell me all about it
and I'll do what I can to help you."
So he told his story. After his discharge from the Army he had
looked about for a job and found one at the mills in Wellingsford,
where he had met the woman, a mill-hand, older than himself, whom
he had married. She had been a bit extravagant and fond of her
glass, but when he left her to rejoin the regiment, he had had no
anxieties. She did not write often, not being very well educated
and finding difficult the composition of letters. A machine gun
bullet had gone through his chest, just missing his lung. He had
been two months in hospital. He had written to her announcing his
arrival. She had not met him at the station. He had tramped home
with his kit-bag on his back--and the cracked head was his
reception. He supposed she had had a lot of easy money and had
given way to temptation--and
"And what's a man to do, sir?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Corporal," said I.
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