"Oncommon sore," said Barnabas; "but what became of th' lad?"
"He'll fare the worse for your interference," said the surgeon. "Keep still, or I can't fasten this bandage. Well, you've tried football from the ball's point of view. There's no accounting for tastes! Bless me, there's more bruise than whole skin about you; one might as well patch a stocking that's all holes!"
His fingers were not gentler than his words, but it was the latter that had made Barnabas wince. "What are they doin' wi' that boy? He's not a lad o' much spirit—I could see that; he'll be like wax in their hands, if some one don't interfere."
"They'll make it a point of honour to corrupt him as fast as possible now; you've gained that by interfering," said the surgeon. "But then the same result would have been reached in any case, sooner or later. If he wasn't a young blackguard when he came in, which I doubt, he'll take his degree in iniquity before the Assizes. It's no good struggling to get up, you can't! And what the devil are you in such a hurry for? You'd better digest the lesson they've given you."
The surgeon had no sympathy for Methodist preachers; the canting criminal, to which class he supposed Barnabas belonged, was the kind he liked least.
He had a cold tolerance for black sheep in general; "they were born bad, as was clearly proved by the shape of their skulls," he would remark; and, while he was a great advocate for hanging them for the sake of society, he neither regarded them with moral indignation, nor sympathised with the illogical efforts of philanthropists.
"You'll find it enough to occupy you," he added drily. He was struck, in spite of himself, at the way this man stood pain. "You'll feel that kicking worse in an hour. I must say it seems to have taken a good amount of beating to beat you!"
"I'd not say—I was beat—while I was alive," said Barnabas in gasps, for speaking was painful. "Ay, it's a lesson to me—I've been a bit too backward—ta'en up wi' my own affairs!—I desarved to fail—but I'll try again—so soon as I can stand. Beaten! I'm not beaten!"
Barnabas lay in his corner for three days and nights. He ought to have been put into the infirmary, but the infirmary was just then given up to certain political prisoners,—gentlemen who were decidedly out of place in Newgate, but who were made as comfortable as circumstances and the easy politeness of the governor allowed.