The overseer did his best.
"I feel as fit as a Strad," panted Engelhardt.
"What may that be?"
"A fiddle and a half."
"Then you don't look it."
"But I soon shall. What's a dislocated arm? Steady on, I say, though. Easy over the stones!"
Chester was nonplussed.
"My dear fellow, you're bruised all over. It'd be cruel to touch you with a towel of cotton-wool."
"Go on," said Engelhardt. "I must be dried and dressed. Dry away! I can stand it."