it. Bores him, he says. But those blessed legs of his, they take him off to the golf links rain or shine, every day of his life; and they won't let him off at nine holes, either. Has to play the whole blooming eighteen."
At this point, Dawson's slow mind gave birth to a faint suspicion.
"Now, Mr. Noel," she said, her plain old face red with one of her easy blushes, "I believe you're just having me on."
"Nothing of the sort," said he, looking the picture of earnest candor, "you haven't heard the half of it yet. Why, another chap I know had even worse luck than that. Nice fellow, too—has a wife and family. He lost his right arm. Well, they made a mistake with him and sent him an arm that was specially designed for another chap—a Colonel in the War Office—devil of a fellow and all that. Would you believe it, every time my friend went near a Wraf or a Waac, that arm of his nearly jumped out of its socket trying to get round the girl's waist? Awkward, wasn't it?"
Dawson's expression was almost too much for him.
"Don't look so cut up about it, Dawes," he said, reaching for a cake. "It all came out right in the end. He and the Colonel swapped arms,
