He was the regimental medical officer, a tall, slight man, with a keen eye, a pleasant face crowned by a topknot of flaming hair, and with a little dab of hair of like colour upon his upper lip, which he fondly cherished, as an important item in his military equipment.
"Say, the old doc is a lifesaver, sure enough," said a young subaltern, answering to the name of "Sally," colloquial for Salford, as he stood amid a circle of officers gathered in the smoking room a few minutes later.

"A lifesaver," repeated Sally, with emphasis.

"He can have me for his laboratory collection after I'm through." "He is one sure singing bird," said another sub, a stout, overgrown boy by the name of Booth.

"The nerve of him," added Booth in admiration.
"Nerve!" echoed a young captain, "but what about the pilot's nerve ?" "Sui generis, Train, I should say," drawled Hopeton.
"Suey, who did you say ?" inquired Sally.

"What's her second name?
But let me tell you I could have fallen on his neck and burst into tears of gratitude.