cutting off legs and arms--it was "so monotonous and uninteresting," as
one of the sisters put it.

Then there came a little variety in the shape of a man with a bullet
wound in his throat. He breathed quite normally, but when the bandage
was removed, his breath rushed bubbling through the aperture and
bespattered all who stood around with little drops of blood. "A most
unpleasant case." He was quickly replaced, however, by another who lay
on a stretcher white and motionless. His tunic had been unbuttoned. His
shirt had been pulled loosely over a big, round object that appeared to
be lying on his belly. The surgeon drew back the shirt. The round object
was still concealed by a dirty piece of lint. The surgeon lifted it off
and revealed a huge coil of bluish red entrail bulging out through a
frightful gash in the abdomen.

"Here, Crawford, here's something for you!"

Captain Crawford was an abdominal specialist, at least he was
particularly interested in abdominal cases, or "belly cases" as they
were humorously termed. Captain Wheeler, who had called him, was
interested in knee cases. Captain Maynard, who was working at the far
end of the theatre, had a fondness for head cases.

"Such a delightful tummy, isn't it?" said Captain Wheeler, who spoke in
the affected drawl of our public schools and universities.

"Rather," replied Captain Crawford, who had come over from his table
holding a blood-stained scalpel in his hand. He added:

"Just my rotten luck--I've only had amputations."