64433: The Dead-Beat

<p dir="ltr"> He dropped,---more sullenly than wearily,<br> Lay stupid like a cod, heavy like meat,<br> And none of us could kick him to his feet;<br> ---Just blinked at my revolver, blearily;<br> ---Didn't appear to know a war was on,<br> Or see the blasted trench at which he stared.<br> 'I'll do 'em in,' he whined. 'If this hand's spared,<br> I'll murder them, I will.'<br> A low voice said,<br> 'It's Blighty, p'raps, he sees; his pluck's all gone,<br> Dreaming of all the valiant, that aren't dead:<br> Bold uncles, smiling ministerially;<br> Maybe his brave young wife, getting her fun<br> In some new home, improved materially.<br> It's not these stiffs have crazed him; nor the Hun.'<br> We sent him down at last, out of the way.<br> Unwounded;---stout lad, too, before that strafe.<br> Malingering? Stretcher-bearers winked, 'Not half!'<br> Next day I heard the Doc's well-whiskied laugh:<br> 'That scum you sent last night soon died. Hooray!'<br></p>