“How—­funny!” Norine exclaimed.

“You’ve got a blamed queer idea of humor,” Branch flashed, with a show of his former irritability.

“And so you shot yourself?”

“Yep!  I tried to select a good spot where it wouldn’t hurt or prove too inconvenient, but—­there isn’t a place to spare on a fellow’s whole body.  He needs every inch of himself every minute.  I was going to shoot myself in the foot, but my feet are full of bones and I saw myself on crutches the rest of my life.”

“Why didn’t you resign from the service?  You didn’t regularly enlist and you’ve surely earned your discharge.”

Branch nodded.  “I thought of that, but I’ve gained a reputation that I don’t deserve and, strangely enough, I’m madly jealous of it.  I thought if I were really shot by a regular bullet I’d be mourned as a hero and have a chance to walk out with colors flying.  I want to tell my children, if I ever have any, what a glorious man I was and how I helped to free Cuba.  Oh, I’d lie like a thief to my own children!  Now you see why I don’t want a doctor.  There’s only one thing I want—­and that’s—­home.”  Leslie heaved a deep sigh.  “Gee!  I’m homesick.”

“So am I,” Norine feelingly declared.  “I think I understand how you feel and I can’t blame you for wanting to live, now that you’ve learned what a splendid thing life is.”

“If O’Reilly had been with me I think I could have managed, somehow, for he would have understood, too.  I—­I’ll never go back to the front, alone—­they can shoot me, if they want to.  Have you heard anything from him?”

“Not a word.  Cuba swallowed him up.  Oh, Leslie, it is a cruel country!  It is taking the best and the youngest.  I—­want to go away.”

He smiled mirthlessly.  “I’m fed up on it, too.  I want to be where I can shave when I need to and wear something besides canvas pajamas.  I’m cured of war; I want a policeman to stop the traffic and help me across the street.  I want to put my feet under a breakfast-table, rustle a morning paper, and slap an egg in the face.  That’s all the excitement I hunger for.”

Norine filled a basin with clean water and, taking a fresh bandage, wrapped up the self-inflicted hurt, Branch watching her anxiously.  Now and again he flinched like a child when she touched his wound.  At last he inquired, apprehensively, “Is it infected?”

“No.”

“Lord!  I’m glad!  Wouldn’t it be just my luck to get blood poisoning?”

Norine surprised her patient by inquiring, irrelevantly, “Leslie, is there anybody here who can marry people?”

“Eh?  Why, of course!” Then suddenly his somber face lightened and he cried:  “Norine!  Do you mean it?”

“Not you.  I wouldn’t marry you.”

“Why not?  I’m perfectly well—­”

“Please answer me.”

Leslie settled back in his chair.  “I dare say some of the Cuban Cabinet officers could put up a good bluff at a marriage ceremony.”