"Now, don't you worry, Massa Jinks. You're pretty lucky. We've had some men here hurted themselves that had to go home for good, and some of 'em, two or three, never got well, and died. But bless you, you'll soon be all right. Doctor said so."
Sam had to get what consolation he could from this. His memory began to come back, and he recalled the beginning of the hazing.
"Is Cadet Cleary in the hospital?" he asked.
"No, sah."
"Won't you try to get word to him to come and see me here, if he can?"
"Yes, Massa, I'll try. But they won't always let 'em come. Maybe they'll let him Sunday afternoon."
Sure enough, Cleary succeeded in getting permission to pay Sam a call on Sunday.
"Well, old man, I've got to thank you for letting me out of a lot of trouble," he cried as he clasped Sam's hand and sat down by the bedside.
"Did they duck you, too?" asked Sam. "You must be stronger than I am. It's a shame I couldn't stand it."
"No. When they'd nearly killed you they let me off. Don't you be ashamed of anything. They kept you in there five minutes—I'm not sure it wasn't ten. If you weren't half a fish, you'd never have come to, that's all there is of that. And after you'd drunk all that tabasco, too!"