Judge — April 12, 1919 — page 18: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE BEST STORY OF THE WEEK FROM ABROAD for me this time,” said Private An- son, as they lifted him on to the operating table. “Blighty,” murmured the American doctor (attached for duty) reassuringly; “sure thing.” “And to think,” continued Private Anson with intense disgust, “that it took ole Fritz over four years to do this to me. I was beginning to believe he hadn’t a shell what could find me—if you under- stand me?” “Got you first time,” American doctor. “But it seems he had one with me name and address on it; so, of course, I got it. Sweating on leave I was, too.” Private Anson swore competently for a few moments. “To get a slugging like you got just when you're expecting leave is pretty fierce luck,” said the American doctor sympathetically. “Me and ole Bill Harris had it between us. Pore ole Bill! you couldn't find what's left of him with a magnerfying glass. Out since Mons, too.... It’s me leg, isn’t it, doctor?” “Te is. “Will it have to come off, doctor?” “Not if we can keep you this side of Hades with it on, sonny. Now be quiet for a few moments, and don’t be scared. I'm just going to push you into dream- land.” He administered the anesthetic, and Private Anson slid into unconsciousness. # ['« either Blighty or the bone yard answered the When he opened his eyes again he was lying on a clean bed in a Nissen hut. Private Anson felt that he should have been comfortable in that bed, but he wasn’t. His left leg was aching and burning, and he was desperately thirsty. He tried to alter the position of the troublesome leg, and found that it was fastened down. This annoyed him. He swore. Private Anson belonged to the regular army, and when he swore, he did it thoroughly. An angular orderly, with pale eyes, and hair that would cer- tainly get him into trouble with the ser- geant-major at an early date, appeared suddenly at the bedside. “Gimme some water,” said Private Anson in a thick voice. HIS OWN LANGUAGE By Freperick TiLstey The orderly blinked at him protest- ingly. “Can't,” he answered. “Quite impossible, old chap. You are just comin, out of an anesthetic, and water would make you horribly sick.” He shuddered He was a very inexperienced orderly. “T'll chance that. Gimme some water.” “Absolutely daren’t, old top.” simme some water, I tell you.” Can’t—really can’t, you know.” “Well, gimme some beer.” “It’s absolutely against orders to give you anything to drink. I should be— shot at sunrise, and all that sort of thing you know.” Private Anson began to swear, and the orderly shuddered again, only much more violently this time. “T can see,” concluded Private Anson, “that I shall have to get that water my- self.” With a great effort he jerked him- self into a sitting position. Answering a Fool According to His Folly Jones—Hello, Brown—mor Brown (bitteriy)—Oh, no; I’m sak giving the furniture a ride.—Sydney Bulletin. The orderly sprang at him and laid gentle hands on his shoulders. ‘No! no! no! You mustn’t; you really mustn’t! You'll hurt yourself,” he said tragically. “Tl hurt you if you don’t clear out toot sweet!” bellowed Private Anson. He fell back with a groan; and then, re- membering that his leg was fastened down, he cursed the hospital and every- thing in it with much vigor. He was a pugnacious individual at the best of times. In his present condition, dazed with chloroform and pain, a mule was mild-mannered and thoughtful compared with him. It seemed to Private Anson that whoever tied his leg down had taken an unheard-of liberty, and he was not the sort of person to stand that kind of thing quietly. He set his teeth and dragged on the fastened leg with all his strength. The orderly uttered a horror-stricken bleat and ran for the sister. In spite of the pain caused him by every movement, Private Anson tugged again. He was delirious by the time the sister ar- rived. “You must be quiet,” said the sister in a firm voice. “Otherwise you will never get better.” Under the impression that some one was threatening him, Private Anson swore at her in a loud, clear voice. The orderly blushed, and tried to look as if he hadn’t heard; the sister was a regu- lar, and was used to being sworn at. “Do you know who you are talking to?” she asked grimly, and her voice somehow succeeded in penetrating to the befogged brain of Private Anson. He realized dimly there was a woman present. He declared that he was sorry if he had said anything he should not have said, and asked her ina hoarse voice to forgive him. The sister forgave him freely. With a sigh of relief he lay back and repeated the offending remarks all over again with great vehemence. And then he remembered that his leg was still fastened down. He started to pull on it again. “Find the orderly officer, and ask him if he will come here at once,” com- manded the sister. The orderly disappeared. Two min- utes later he reappeared, with the officer at his heels. The officer was a surgeon, and, like all surgeons, he expected to be famous in the near future. He was very comicbooks.com