“Can’t she come and do this? No, I say,” and he threw the nearest thing at hand at him.
“Come,” said Cecil, “I’m glad you can do such things as that.”
But Jock gave a cry of pain, and protested that it was all John’s fault for making him hurt himself instead of fetching mother.
“You had better let me lift you,” said John, “you know she is tired, and I really am stronger.”
“No, you shan’t touch me—a great clumsy lout.”
In the midst of these amenities, the doctor appeared, and Jock looked slightly ashamed, especially when the doctor, instead of doing what was wanted, directed John where to put an arm, and how to give support, while moving the pillow, adding that he was a handy fellow, more so than many a pupil after half a year’s training at the hospital, and smiling down Jock’s growls and groans, which were as much from displeasure as from pain. They were followed by some despairing sighs at the horrors of the prospect of being moved.
“Ah! what will you give me for letting you off?” said the Doctor.
Jock uttered a sound of relief, then, rather distrustfully, asked—“Why?”
“We can only get bearers enough for one; and as it is most important to move your brother, while you will gain by a night’s rest, he must have the first turn.”
“And welcome,” said Jock; “my mother will stay with me.”