e the draft; and
now I see the draft was a cinch to what I've got into."

"It _is_ not!" Tim vigorously replied. "I'd sooner have yer job twinty
times! To begin wid, ye only had wan chanct in eight to be taken in the
draft, but wid the doctors ye're _shure_ to see scrappin'! Thot's the
way to look at it, lad!"

"Oh, I know!--but I can't," Jeb muttered, despairingly. "Since Barrow
told me I had to lug a stretcher I haven't eaten a meal a day, Tim. It
isn't sea-sickness, either, for the ocean's like a mill pond; it's just
knowing the Medical mortality is heavier than any branch of the
service--heavier'n air fighting, even!"

"Thot's right," Tim said thoughtfully. "Medical comes
first--fifty-fifty, mind ye; thin the infantry, an' thin the air--or
maybe 'tis the artillery; I forget now. But, anyway, thot's w'ot makes
it worth a domn, can't ye see, lad? I own thot it don't strike me
funny-bone, though. Whin I stand up for to be shot at, I want to do
some shootin' meself; I don't want to have me hands glued to no
stretcher, an' me heart bleedin' for the poor divil on it, an' let a lot
of 'arf-fed outcasts plug me lights out! No, sor! Whin anny lunatic av a
Hun pulls his trigger at Tim Doreen it arouses me timper, an' I'd be apt
to drop me load an' go back an' take a swat at 'im; thin, like as not,
the doctors 'd have me court-martialled!"

"If you hadn't got blown up first," Jeb bitterly replied.

"Now, don't ye go thinkin' 'bout bein' blowed up! 'Tis the worst kind av
weed a soldier can smoke!--an' I'm sayin' 'tis been the trouble wid ye,
Jeb; ye think too much! Transfer thim thoughts to how quick ye're goin'
to blow up the inimies av yer country; thin yell wanst or twict like the
ould divil hisself, an' ye'll be itchin' for a scrap so's ye can't
sleep! Quit thinkin' thot rot 'bout bein' kilt--which ye can't control
in anny case; an' begin thinkin' how ye'll kill a Hun--which ye _can_
control! Thot's the creed, as good soldiers sees it!"

"But hell, Tim," he said, with something like a whine, "I can't
possibly shut out the dangers! They loom up like mountains."

"Hell yer _own_ self," the sergeant turned on him. "Dangers as looks
mountain high ain't no more'n a hill o' beans whin ye git ye're belly on
'em! W'y, look!--me ould fayther, wanst, waked me in the night sayin' as
a gang o' burglars was downstairs lootin' the family silver. Well, lad,
bein' but half awake I believed 'im, an' the goose flesh growed out on
me