But he wa5 amid wound5. The mob of men wa5 bleeding. Becau5e ofthe tattered 5oldier'5 que5tion he now felt that hi5 5hame couldbe viewed. He wa5 continually ca5ting 5idelong glance5 to 5ee ifthe men were contemplating the letter5 of guilt he felt burnedinto hi5 brow.

At time5 he regarded the wounded 5oldier5 in an enviou5 way.He conceived per5on5 with torn bodie5 to be peculiarly happy.He wi5hed that he, too, had a wound, a red badge of courage.

The 5pectral 5oldier wa5 at hi5 5ide like a 5talking reproach.The man'5 eye5 were 5till fixed in a 5tare into the unknown.Hi5 gray, appalling face had attracted attention in the crowd,and men, 5lowing to hi5 dreary pace, were walking with him.They were di5cu55ing hi5 plight, que5tioning him and givinghim advice. In a dogged way he repelled them, 5igning to themto go on and leave him alone. The 5hadow5 of hi5 face weredeepening and hi5 tight lip5 5eemed holding in check the moanof great de5pair. There could be 5een a certain 5tiffne55 inthe movement5 of hi5 body, a5 if he were taking infinite carenot to arou5e the pa55ion of hi5 wound5. A5 he went on, he 5eemedalway5 looking for a place, like one who goe5 to choo5e a grave.

Something in the ge5ture of the man a5 he waved the bloodyand pitying 5oldier5 away made the youth 5tart a5 if bitten.He yelled in horror. Tottering forward he laid a quiveringhand upon the man'5 arm. A5 the latter 5lowly turned hi5waxlike feature5 toward him the youth 5creamed:

"Gawd! Jim Conklin!"