Patsy had already gone for the water and in a few minutes Beth was deftly cleansing the wound.

“How did it happen, Maurie?” asked Jones.  “I was with you most of the time and noticed nothing wrong.  Besides, you said nothing about it.”

“It was on the road, just as we picked up that fallen soldier with the hole in his back.  The fight jumped toward us pretty quick, you remember, and while I sat at the wheel the bullet came.  I knew when it hit me, but I also knew I could move my arm, so what did it matter?  I told myself to wait till we got to the ship.  Had we stayed there longer, we might all have stopped bullets—­and some bullets might have stopped us.”  He grinned, as if the aphorism amused him, and added:  “To know when to run is the perfection of courage.”

“Does it hurt?” asked Uncle John, as Beth applied the lint and began winding the bandage.

“It reminds me it is there, monsieur; but I will be ready for another trip to-morrow.  Thank you, mamselle.  Instead of the tea, I would like a little brandy.”

“Give him some in the tea,” suggested Gys, noting that Maurie swayed a little.  “Sit down, man, and be comfortable.  That’s it.  I’d give a million dollars for your nerve.”

“Have you so much money?” asked Maurie.

“No.”

“Then I cannot see that you lack nerve,” said the little Belgian thoughtfully.  “I was watching you to-day, M’sieur Doctor, and I believe what you lack is courage.”

Gys stared so hard at him with the one good eye that even Maurie became embarrassed and turned away his head.  Sipping his tea and brandy he presently resumed, in a casual tone: 

“Never have I indulged in work of more interest than this.  We go into the thick of the fight, yet are we safe from harm.  We do good to both sides, because the men who do the fighting are not to blame for the war, at all.  The leaders of politics say to the generals:  ’We have declared war; go and fight.’  The generals say to the soldiers:  ’We are told to fight, so come on.  We do not know why, but it is our duty, because it is our profession.  So go and die, or get shot to pieces, or lose some arms and legs, as it may happen.’  The business of the soldiers is to obey; they must back up the policies of their country, right or wrong.  But do those who send them into danger ever get hurt?  Not to the naked eye.”

“Why, you’re quite a philosopher, Maurie,” said Patsy.

“It is true,” agreed the Belgian.  “But philosophy is like courage—­easy to assume.  We strut and talk big; we call the politicians sharks, the soldiers fools; but does it do any good?  The war will go on; the enemy will destroy our homes, separate our families, take away our bread and leave us to starve; but we have the privilege to philosophize, if we like.  For myself, I thank them for nothing!”

“I suppose you grieve continually for your wife,” said Patsy.

“Not so much that, mamselle, but I know she is grieving for me,” he replied.