You've seen for yourself that I'm sound of wind and limb--
as fit as a fiddle. You can make it quite clear to her that I'm
not going to die yet awhile. And you can let her down easy on the
real matter. Tell her I'm as merry as possible and looking forward
to going about Wellingsford with a dog and string."
"You're a brave chap, Boyce," I said.
He laughed again. "You're anticipating. Do you remember what I
said when you asked me what I should do if I won all the pots I
set my heart on and came through alive? I said I should begin to
try to be a brave man. God! It's a tough proposition. But it's
something to live for, anyway."
I asked him how it happened.
"I got sick," he replied, "of bearing a charmed life and nothing
happening. The Bosch shell or bullet that could hit me wasn't
made. I could stroll about freely where it was death for anyone
else to show the top of his head. I didn't care. Then suddenly one
day things went wrong. You know what I mean. I nearly let my
regiment down. It was touch and go. And it was touch and go with
my career. I just pulled through, however. I'll tell you all about
it one of these days--if you'll put up with me.
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