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Updated: May 3, 2025
A sort of mental illumination came to Zaidos. He cared for wounded men with a quick skill that he had never known that he possessed. He grew so weary that he staggered under his part of the stretcher's load. His leg pained him so that it was like a whip, keeping him awake and at work when all his body cried to drop down and sleep.
"I tell you I am in a bad way!" insisted the unseen speaker. "I shall appeal this matter to the King as soon as we land." "That's a good idea," said a soldier, nodding. "When I came away I left my tobacco pouch in barracks. I will appeal too. It is not to be endured!" "You don't understand," said the fellow. "I am Velo Kupenol, the head of the house of Zaidos. I am a Count!"
It seemed strange to see Helen in filmy summer dress instead of the severe uniform of a nurse, and Zaidos missed the white cap on her beautiful hair, but he decided finally that she was even prettier without it. Zaidos could not keep from watching her every move.
"Dear, dear Velo," he said with a simper, "how can I ever thank you for saving my life?" Zaidos' method of punishing Velo for the yarn he had told the doctor took the form of an exaggerated gratitude. Being perfectly independent of praise himself, Zaidos could not understand why on earth Velo should have taken the trouble to misrepresent things so.
It took only a couple of days to fix the thing all up for the doctor; indeed, it was so tied up with red tape and all that, that Zaidos was not sure anyone would ever get the money. Jack was more than nice to Zaidos, and insisted on taking him to his own quarters, where he rested quietly for several days. The journey had been harder than Zaidos had realized.
It was too open to the weather for much use, however, and the small group of soldiers present were quartered in a cellar close by. A young sentinel showed Zaidos and Velo the way down, and they rolled up in their blankets and tried to sleep. It was a difficult thing to do. Zaidos found that the steady tramping and kneeling of the day and evening had made his leg, so recently healed, ache badly.
The man was speaking violently, then beseechingly, to the stranger, who was in uniform. "What is it?" again demanded Zaidos. He began to get the run of the conversation, but as he made it out, it was too preposterous to consider. The officer laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head. "You will have to come," he said. "But my father?" said Zaidos, alarmed. The man shrugged his shoulders.
They reached the second line of wire entanglements, where for awhile the battle raged, while Zaidos and Velo, like other thousands of silent and bloody figures, lay in strange, distorted groups. At the second entanglement, however, something seemed to happen. Perhaps the enemy's charge had exhausted them, perhaps because a bulldog courage always fills the British. The tide turned.
Five minutes passed; then with a last look at his father's closed door, Zaidos went down and found Velo standing beside the automobile, talking to the chauffeur. Already the intense blackness of the night was lifting. Zaidos felt a chill of apprehension. "You will have to hurry," said his cousin. "I will come down later and look you up. Hope you get back."
"You see I've never had the chance to fight. I was lame when they put me at the Hospital Corps work. At least my broken leg was tender. Now it's shot up, and I won't be good for anything else but Red Cross jobs." "I may as well tell you," said the doctor. "You will always be a little lame, Zaidos. Not much, understand, but enough to bar you from any work here. I'm sorry, son.
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