'Can't you see? These men aren't invalids.' Graham's outstretched arm indicated the ward, where the patients were lying in bed reading the Sunday papers, trying hard to give the impression they weren't listening. Bluey himself was asleep at the end, snoring loudly. 'Underneath their wounds and scars they're full of life, fit and lusty. They were youngsters with charm and sex-appeal, and what happened? In a few seconds they were turned into objects of horror. Then they were locked up in this converted madhouse. And that's not to be their fate for a week, or a month, or even a year. When the war's over and everyone's back in their comfortable little slots these patients of mine will still be coming up for another graft, another pedicle, another operation of some sort. How are they going to face that miserable prospect if they can't run wild now and then?'
Captain Pile tried to say something, but Graham went on, 'Do you know what happened in the last war? When I first heard of plastic surgery I was a patient myself in a sanatorium. There was a plastic unit billeted in half the wards. Every afternoon, under King's Regulations, the men had to be marched by an N.C.O. round the countryside for exercise. You can imagine the effect. People weren't so well educated then, were more superstitious. You'd have thought an army of ghouls was advancing on them. They locked their doors, covered their windows, and hid their children. So the Army confined the poor fellows to hospital, with nothing to look at but each other-an inspired piece of morale-building. I don't want any of that nonsense in this war. There's one thing my patients ask from the world, and only one. To be treated as normal individuals. Oh, I know it's difficult, they're freaks. But the effort isn't much to ask.'
'I think Mr Trevose is perfectly right,' announced Mrs Sedgewick-Smith.
Captain Pile spun round. The unexpected desertion of his ally appalled him. Trevose was a difficult customer at the best of times, and that morning he needed all the support he could muster. She stood tugging the hem of her tweed jacket and staring at Graham with large grey eyes. She must have been quite a good-looking girl, Graham thought. Even now, I could do her face a power of good.
'After all,' continued Mrs Sedgewick-Smith crisply, 'there are no children roaming the hospital. And the rest of us surely know that expression exists.'
'Exactly,' said Graham.
Mrs Sedgewick-Smith had undergone a change of heart. She had been dying to meet Graham for eighteen months. He was
'We mustn't wallow in our indignation,' she continued calmly, 'and I'm sure the paint can very easily be cleaned off. Mr Trevose, I appreciate every word that you have said. Isn't there anything I can do for your patients? To give them a nice little break?'
'There most certainly is. And it isn't very much. Just ask them to tea, invite along some girls, and talk about the weather.'
'This is nothing to do with a breach of discipline,' Captain Pile broke in furiously.
'Surely, Captain, if Nelson could turn a blind eye you can?' asked Mrs Sedgewick-Smith tartly. 'There are so many regulations these days, none of us can avoid breaking one or two, can we?'
Captain Pile fell silent. He had been rather afraid of this turn in the conversation. Regularly every Friday Mrs Sedgewick-Smith brought him half a dozen eggs from her hens, in a cardboard box labelled as Red Cross library books. A side of bacon had once been smuggled into his house, wrapped in a sheet to resemble the laundry. There had been pots of gooseberry jam, pounds of sugar, even a few ounces of butter. It would be sad if the flow ceased. Captain Pile was extremely fond of egg and bacon for his breakfast. It was a testing decision. Should he pawn his military honour for a handful of eggs?
'I suppose if you don't feel inclined to press the matter, Mrs Sedgewick-Smith, I-'
'Extremely sensible of you,' she said quickly. She turned to Graham with a smile. 'Mr Trevose, I do hope you can drop in for a little drink some evening? I'm sure my husband can find something in the cupboard.'
Graham promised. The bargain struck him as cheap at the price.
When Graham finally started his ward-round, he said to Sister Mills, 'I'm sorry about that. It doesn't happen every Sunday morning.'
'Oh, what a pity.' She smiled. 'I thought you were terribly impressive, Mr Trevose. Though I can't for the life of me see what all the fuss was about.'
'Neither can I,' said Graham. It suddenly occurred to him he didn't even know what the word was.
