San Antonio, Oct. 10—“It helps, ma’am,” he said spiritedly, “if you tell me who you are.” The nurse identified herself so that he was then able to refer to her by name. Would he care to join us for some coffee? “I never turned down free coffee in my life,” and he climbed down off his bed and struggled with his bathrobe. Unsuccessfully.
The visitor sorted it out and helped him on with it. He chatted on, wanting to know the latest word on New York City politics. He extended his left hand, fastening it on the visitor’s right arm, and told him to go ahead. “If we pass any pretty girls, tell me and I’ll whistle. I don’t know whether there are any around here, but I wouldn’t be surprised.” (But there were only doctors and nurses as they strolled down the corridor, and the maimed bodies of servicemen.)
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