"That was my friend," said Mr. Wriford; and asked: "Is he buried here?"
"In the churchyard. We knew nothing who he was, of course. There's just a wooden cross. You'd like to see it when you're better. They've kept his things, or at least a list of them. You could identify by them. Had he any friends?"
"Only me. I think only me. We met on the road."
"Poor chap," said Doctor. "Washed off, I suppose?"
"No, he jumped off. He couldn't swim."
Doctor, who was going obedient to Sister's call, turned and exclaimed: "Jumped off? Why?"
But Mr. Wriford was lying back as he had lain these many days, thinking.
V
Visiting Committee. Visiting Committee tramped and shuffled into the room and grouped about his bed and stared at him—one clergyman addressed as Vicar, one very red gentleman addressed as Major, two other men and two ladies; all rather fat and not very smartly groomed as though one rather ran to seed at Port Rannock and didn't bother much about brushing one's coat-collar or pressing one's trousers or—for the ladies—keeping abreast of the fashions. All meaning to be kind, but all, after a while, rather inclined to be huffy with this patient whose story Doctor had reported, whom Doctor considered fit to be moved, but who displayed no gratitude for all that had been done for him, nor any sort of emotion when told that he would be sent to Pendra Infirmary at the end of the week.
Visiting Committee opened with a cheery joke on the part of Major at which everybody smiled towards the patient, but to which the patient made no sort of response. Visiting Committee in the persons of Major and Vicar fired a few questions based upon Doctor's information, at first kindly and then rather abrupt. Patient just lay with wide eyes that never turned towards the speaker and either answered: "Yes, thank you," or "No, thank you," or did not answer at all. Visiting Committee thought patient ungracious and said so to itself as it moved away.