Tony stepped across to the stretcher and stooped down.
"Don't touch me," the man exclaimed fiercely.
"All right, old chap, I won't hurt you; only I thought I might make you more comfortable," Tony answered.
"You want to make me comfortable?" the man asked in a scoffing tone.
"Why, yes, if I can," Tony replied.
"Then see here," the man exclaimed. "I've never feared anything yet, and I don't begin now. I'm close up a dead 'un, but that's nothing. When I'm dead, I'm gone, and that's all about it. I know, and I don't give a shearer's curse for it, so don't you fancy I care. It's your maudlin gospel-millers who get scared at the chance of kicking. You understand? That's the sort of man I am. I was never afraid and never sorry all my days, and I'm not going to begin now at the end of them."
His eyes were wild in their gleam and his lips twitched as he spoke.
"Yes; that's all right," Tony said soothingly. "You're as plucky as they make them, and I like you for it; so go slow and rest, because there aren't too many like you, and we don't want you to go."
The keen, bright eyes looked steadily for a moment, and then a forced laugh came from the man's lips.
"You don't want me to go!" he said, with a sneer. "You! Well, see here, young fellow. There's one thing I'd be sorry for—if I went without telling you what I've got to say."