"Come up to my room first!" he said.
Derrick went with him unprotesting.
In his own room Carlyon turned round and took him by the shoulders. "Now," he said, "are you ill or merely sulky? Just tell me which, and I shall know how to treat you!"
"It's no thanks to you I'm not dead!" exclaimed Derrick stormily. "I didn't want to meet you, but, by Heaven, since I have, and since you have forced an interview upon me, I'll go ahead and tell you what I think of you."
Carlyon turned away from him and sat down. "Do, by all means," he said, "if it will get you into a healthier frame of mind!"
But Derrick's flow of eloquence unexpectedly failed him at this juncture, and he stood awkwardly silent.
Carlyon turned round at last and looked at him. "Sit down, Dick," he said patiently, "and stop being an ass! I'm a difficult man to quarrel with, as you know. So sit down and state your grievance, and have done with it!"
"You know very well what's wrong!" Derrick burst out fiercely, beginning to prowl to and fro.
"Do I?" said Carlyon. He got up deliberately and intercepted Derrick. "Just stop tramping," he said, with sudden sternness, "and listen to me! You have your wound alone to thank for keeping you out of the worst mess you ever got into. If you hadn't gone back in a hospital truck, you would have gone back under escort. Do you understand that?"
"Why?" flashed Derrick.