She came in, leaving the man in the car, and crossed the lawn, flushed and bright-eyed, a refreshing picture for a tired man.
"We're in a fix up at the hospital," she announced as soon as she was in reasonable speaking distance, "and I want you to get us out of it." Sitting on the grass, she told me the difficulty.

A wounded soldier, discharged from some distant hospital, and home now on sick furlough before rejoining his depot, had been brought into the hospital with a broken head.

The modern improvements on vinegar and brown paper having been applied, the man was now ready to leave.

I interrupted with the obvious question.

Why couldn't he go to his own home?
It appeared that the prospect terrified him.