“What for?” he asked. “It’s losing time.”
“You’re a bit keen to get rid of me, Grit,” she said.
He wheeled round abruptly and took her by the arm.
“Don’t get any of those fool ideas into your head,” he said quickly. “When we’ve put this job successfully through, we’ll go on the spree together—to Jo’burg, or anywhere you’ve a fancy for. You’re a first-class chum.”
She flushed with pleasure even through the paint, and emitted a little awkward laugh.
“I’d enjoy that more than enough. Just ourselves, and no need for this fooling round. But I’d like to stay and do first aid for twenty-four hours, anyhow... You won’t go down to the coast with your face like that?”
“Then, stay,” he said, giving in with the spiritless manner of a man unequal to further contention. “I’ll be glad enough of your company. I’m stiff and sore and jolly well out of conceit with myself. If anyone can reinstate me in my own opinion it’s you.”
They put up at the hotel, and Tottie, whose ideas of first aid were practical if crude, was only deterred from putting them into effect by Lawless’ irritable refusal to be touched. He bathed his sore and swollen face himself with warm water, and swore at the stiffness and its unfamiliar contours. In the morning the face was even less comfortable than on the day of assault, and he could not see out of one eye. But he was firm in insisting that Tottie should start on her journey. He bought her ticket and saw her off by the train. She parted from him reluctantly, and leaning half-way out of her compartment as the train was moving out, called to him:
“Go and see a doctor, Grit. I don’t like that eye of yours.”
He nodded to her, and because he was in haste to be rid of the inconvenience of his injury, took her advice; and for the next few days was forced to go about wearing a shade, to his no small discomfort and disgust.