He looked very shaky (served him right) and we had to take him over to the cage and give him a sip of brandy. I also had one, and so did Stringer.
We all felt better after that, and Stringer and I took off our anthropoid heads and escorted Gran'pa on a tour of inspection.
The enraged prisoners of war roared at us more defiantly than ever, now that their suspicions were confirmed. Their attempts at escape became prodigious and their language frightful.
"We got these two birds with one stone, so to speak," I shouted.
"Did you, by jove?" he cried.
He looked at them more closely and a shadow of pain seemed to flit over his features.
"You've knocked them about a lot, George. Was it necessary?"
"We didn't do it. They did it themselves. Fighting!"
I explained things to him in detail.
"No 'fluence?" he inquired of Stringer.