Part 14 (2/2)

When Tom arrived at the little town where the hospital was situated he immediately asked for permission to see the wounded man.

The nurse shook her head. ”I doubt if you can,” she replied.

”Is he very bad?” asked Tom.

The nurse nodded. ”Very bad indeed,” she replied; ”he was wounded the other morning when the attack was made. We seem to have lost a number of men.”

”Yes,” said Tom, ”I was there and I heard that the Black Watch were called up.”

For a few seconds there was a silence between them, while Tom scanned the nurse's face closely.

”Do you mean to say he's going to die?” asked Tom, and his voice trembled a little.

The nurse nodded. ”I am afraid so,” she said. ”He's too ill to see any one, and I doubt if he would know you.”

”I am sure he would like to see me,” said Tom pleadingly; ”you see we were pals in Lancas.h.i.+re, and we saw a goodish bit of each other while we were in the camp in Surrey. I would like to see him if I could, I would really.”

”Well, I shall have to speak to the doctor,” was the nurse's reply.

”Will you wait here? I won't be long before I'm back.”

A curious feeling came into Tom's heart. He did not know very much about McPhail, but he recalled the conversations that they had had in Lancas.h.i.+re, and he vividly remembered the night before they had started for the Front. McPhail had been very much wrought upon then. Tom had watched his face while they sat together in the Y.M.C.A. hut when the speaker was telling them about the deep needs of their lives.

McPhail's face had become set and stern, although his lips quivered.

Afterwards when they had gone to the canteen the Scotchman had uttered words which Tom never forgot.

He wondered now if McPhail had meant what he said, wondered too if he had realised the same experiences which he, Tom, had pa.s.sed through.

It seemed awful that this tall, stalwart Scotchman was going to die.

Why should men be killed in this way? Why should that lonely Scotchwoman, McPhail's mother, have to suffer because of German sins?

The nurse came back to him. ”He wants to see you,” she said, ”and the doctor says he may. He's been asking for you.”

”Asking for me?” queried Tom.

”Yes, I didn't know anything about it. He's been telling another nurse that he wanted to see you. Pollard is your name, isn't it?”

A few seconds later Tom was admitted into the room where a number of men lay. McPhail was in a corner of the room partially hidden from the rest. The Scotchman gave Tom a smile of recognition as he came up to him.

”I felt sure ye'd come,” he whispered. ”They told me I couldna get at ye, but I had a feeling that I should see ye before I died.”

Tom hesitated a second before replying.

”It may not be as bad as that,” he said, ”lots of chaps who have looked worse than you have got better.”

”Nay,” said McPhail, ”I'm pipped, I have got to go. I'm not in any pain, though,” he added quickly, ”the doctor saw to that, but it willna be long afore I'm gone. Tom, I would like ye to write a letter to my mither. As I told you, she's a G.o.dly woman, and I've grieved her sair.”

”I will do anything you ask me, McPhail,” was Tom's reply. ”Ay, but don't give up; you may get well yet, and have another smack at the Germans.”

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