CHAPTER XXXII.
While the conversation was going on between the Tory and Gray Panther, Gravity Gimp was rubbing and nursing his "game leg," with many sighs and groans, which he took care should be heard by those around him, while at the same time it did not annoy them.
"Sprained it, I s'pose," remarked Golcher, deeming it best to keep back his intentions toward the negro until after he should have extracted all the information he could.
"Wuss dan a strain," said Gravity, looking ruefully down at the limb and rubbing it with one hand.
"How can it be worse than a strain?"
"It's busted."
"You talk like a fool—what do you mean by bustin' a leg?"
"I mean dat it ain't no use any more—ain't wuth nuffin to dance de double shuffle wid."
"How did you hurt it?"