“Gilbert? do you know our farmer’s son, Gilbert, and were you seeking him?”
The old man took the youth’s hand, it was icy cold. Philip opened his waistcoat and found that his heart was quiet. But the next instant he cried: “No, he breathes—he lives, I tell you.”
“Help! this way, to the surgeon,” said the old man.
“Nay, let us do what we can for him for I was refused help when I spoke to him just now.”
“He must take care of my dear boy,” said the old man.
And taking Gilbert between him and Taverney, they carried him towards the surgeon, who was still croaking:
“The poor first—bring in the poor, first.”
This maxim was sure to be hailed with admiration from a group of lookers-on.
“I bring a man of the people,” retorted the old man hotly, feeling a little piqued at this exclusiveness.
“And the women next, as men can bear their hurt better,” proceeded the character.