identifying them. “Where’s
Muller? Where’s Renny?”
McGuffey answered: “Don’t know where Muller is—downstairs, maybe.
But Renny got left behind.”
“ What? “
“They dropped him off at a place along the road. About sixty miles
back.”
The doctor was on his feet in an instant. “But I don’t like this at
all…What happened?”
When he had extracted a few more details he rushed downstairs.
The British officer (the one with the air of languid aloofness) sat before
a glass-topped table as if waiting for a waiter who never came. The doctor
approached hint without preamble. “Look here, sir—I want to know where
two of my men are—there’s the one who was in the truck, and there’s
Muller, who was with you in the car…”
The British officer’s eyes sought focus and found it momentarily. “Ah
yes—the boy with the smashed elbow. I sent him on ahead with my
evacuation officer. He caught one of your Navy ships last night…”
“You mean Muller’s already out?”
“Rather. Any objection?”
“Good God, no—I’ll say he’s lucky—”
“I’d say he’s damned lucky.”
“And what about the other boy—Renny?”
“We dropped him off at a first-aid station.”
“You dropped him off? But don’t you know we’re getting out of here
tonight—in a few hours! I don’t want to leave any of my boys behind.
And you promised—”
The eyes of the British officer stared away into space. “He was very ill.
He said he couldn’t stand any more. We stopped at the first-aid station to
see what they could do for him, and he begged us to leave him there. We left
one of our own men too—crashed into a bridge on his motorcycle and
broke both legs. There was a nurse—Javanese—who stayed with your
man. She told me she’d given him her blood and felt she must look after him
whatever happened—at least that’s what I thought she
said—I don’t speak Javanese well. And there wasn’t time to argue…You
see, I had to use my own judgment—right or wrong, one often has to use
one’s own judgment.”
All at once the officer’s face rolled sideways and his body slipped
forward across the table. The doctor was just in time to save him from
falling to the floor, and the effort of doing so killed his indignation as
effectively as it served to waken the other man from the sudden stab of
sleep.
“Awfully sorry,” he mumbled, forcing his eyes open. “Three days and two
nights since we left Surabaya—on the road all the time—sort of a
tiring trip…What was I saying? Oh yes, about your man…I tell you frankly,
he looked pretty ghastly. I was afraid he’d die. I wouldn’t have liked
that.”
“I understand,” said the doctor quietly.
“But I’ll tell you what I’ll do…I’ll keep in touch with him and if any
of us get out, we’ll take him with us.”
“You will?” said the doctor, putting out his hand.
“Oh, rather.” The British officer shook hands with extreme embarrassment.
“And…er…I’d better give you my name.”
He did so, and received the doctor’s, after which the latter said gently:
“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
“Not half a bad idea,” replied the other, slumping forward across the
table instantly.
The seven men from the Marblehead went aboard the Janssens at dusk. They had rested for a while until all arrangements had been made by
the doctor, assisted by the Dutch wireless man. The latter had commandeered
from somewhere or other a school bus, and into this vehicle the less wounded
men piled with their luggage and were driven through the still heavy rain to
the dock. The three worse wounded traveled in the doctor’s car.
But the Dutchman had done something else: he had procured, also from
somewhere or other, some pretty good mattresses, which he presented to the
doctor for the use of the men during the sea trip. And it was both reassuring
and not so reassuring when he said, handing them over:
Muller? Where’s Renny?”
McGuffey answered: “Don’t know where Muller is—downstairs, maybe.
But Renny got left behind.”
“ What? “
“They dropped him off at a place along the road. About sixty miles
back.”
The doctor was on his feet in an instant. “But I don’t like this at
all…What happened?”
When he had extracted a few more details he rushed downstairs.
The British officer (the one with the air of languid aloofness) sat before
a glass-topped table as if waiting for a waiter who never came. The doctor
approached hint without preamble. “Look here, sir—I want to know where
two of my men are—there’s the one who was in the truck, and there’s
Muller, who was with you in the car…”
The British officer’s eyes sought focus and found it momentarily. “Ah
yes—the boy with the smashed elbow. I sent him on ahead with my
evacuation officer. He caught one of your Navy ships last night…”
“You mean Muller’s already out?”
“Rather. Any objection?”
“Good God, no—I’ll say he’s lucky—”
“I’d say he’s damned lucky.”
“And what about the other boy—Renny?”
“We dropped him off at a first-aid station.”
“You dropped him off? But don’t you know we’re getting out of here
tonight—in a few hours! I don’t want to leave any of my boys behind.
And you promised—”
The eyes of the British officer stared away into space. “He was very ill.
He said he couldn’t stand any more. We stopped at the first-aid station to
see what they could do for him, and he begged us to leave him there. We left
one of our own men too—crashed into a bridge on his motorcycle and
broke both legs. There was a nurse—Javanese—who stayed with your
man. She told me she’d given him her blood and felt she must look after him
whatever happened—at least that’s what I thought she
said—I don’t speak Javanese well. And there wasn’t time to argue…You
see, I had to use my own judgment—right or wrong, one often has to use
one’s own judgment.”
All at once the officer’s face rolled sideways and his body slipped
forward across the table. The doctor was just in time to save him from
falling to the floor, and the effort of doing so killed his indignation as
effectively as it served to waken the other man from the sudden stab of
sleep.
“Awfully sorry,” he mumbled, forcing his eyes open. “Three days and two
nights since we left Surabaya—on the road all the time—sort of a
tiring trip…What was I saying? Oh yes, about your man…I tell you frankly,
he looked pretty ghastly. I was afraid he’d die. I wouldn’t have liked
that.”
“I understand,” said the doctor quietly.
“But I’ll tell you what I’ll do…I’ll keep in touch with him and if any
of us get out, we’ll take him with us.”
“You will?” said the doctor, putting out his hand.
“Oh, rather.” The British officer shook hands with extreme embarrassment.
“And…er…I’d better give you my name.”
He did so, and received the doctor’s, after which the latter said gently:
“Why don’t you try to get some sleep?”
“Not half a bad idea,” replied the other, slumping forward across the
table instantly.
The seven men from the Marblehead went aboard the Janssens at dusk. They had rested for a while until all arrangements had been made by
the doctor, assisted by the Dutch wireless man. The latter had commandeered
from somewhere or other a school bus, and into this vehicle the less wounded
men piled with their luggage and were driven through the still heavy rain to
the dock. The three worse wounded traveled in the doctor’s car.
But the Dutchman had done something else: he had procured, also from
somewhere or other, some pretty good mattresses, which he presented to the
doctor for the use of the men during the sea trip. And it was both reassuring
and not so reassuring when he said, handing them over:
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