"
Strengthened by a four-finger "nip" which he swallowed without a
wink, the Hospital Orderly kept up with the slipping, mud-stained,
and very disgusted pony as it shambled to the hospital tent.
Private Dormer was certainly "'orrid bad." He had all but reached
the stage of collapse, and was not pleasant to look upon.
"What's this, Dormer?" said Bobby, bending over the man. "You're
not going out this time. You've got to come fishing with me once
or twice more yet."
The blue lips parted and in the ghost of a whisper said, - "Beg y'
pardon, sir, disturbin' of you now, but would you min' 'oldin' my
'and, sir'?
Bobby sat on the side of the bed, and the icy-cold hand closed on
his own like a vice, forcing a lady's ring which was on the little
finger deep into the flesh. Bobby set his lips and waited, the
water dripping from the hem of his trousers. An hour passed, and
the grasp of the hand did not relax, nor did the expression of the
drawn face change. Bobby with infinite craft lit himself a cheroot
with the left hand (his right arm was numbed to the elbow), and
resigned himself to a night of pain.
Dawn showed a very white-faced Subaltern sitting on the side of a
sick man's cot, and a Doctor in the doorway using language unfit
for publication.
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