After waiting a moment on the ground at the top of the shell crater,
to see their comrade being carried to a first-aid dressing station at
the rear, Jimmy and Roger started back to join their two friends who
were still, it was to be hoped, waiting for orders to advance.

"S'pose he's much hurt?" asked Roger, something like a dry sob choking
him as he thought of poor Iggy.

"I'm afraid so--yes," answered Jimmy. "That business of his legs
feeling numb is a bad sign. It's a wonder he lived as long as he did,
after what happened to him."

"I'll say so!" agreed Roger. "Tough luck all right!"

"Why," went on his chum as they started back toward their former
places, "it looked as if his whole face was blown in. I can't
understand it"

"Well, they'll do the best they can for him back there," and Roger
nodded toward the dressing stations. "Maybe we'll get a chance to go
to see him after this battle."

His words were drowned in a new roar of artillery and machine-gun
fire. The heavy booming and the short, sharp, rattling explosions of
the smaller guns seemed very close at hand.

"Something's doing!" cried Jimmy.