“But it does! It has bled terribly. Sit there! Now, Hedrick, some water.”
Hedrick rushed off and was back in a moment with a basin of water, a sponge and a towel, and before Grenfall fully knew what was happening, the man-servant was bathing his head, the others looking on anxiously, the young lady apprehensively, her hands clasped before her as she bent over to inspect the wound above his ear.
“It is quite an ugly cut,” said Uncle Caspar, critically. “Does it pain you, sir?”
“Oh, not a great deal,” answered Lorry, closing his eyes comfortably. It was all very pleasant, he thought.
“Should it not have stitches, Uncle Caspar?” asked the sweet, eager voice.
“I think not. The flow is staunched. If the gentleman will allow Hedrick to trim the hair away for a plaster and then bandage it I think the wound will give him no trouble.” The old man spoke slowly and in very good English.
“Really, Uncle, is it not serious?”
“No, no,” interposed Grenfall Lorry. “I knew it was a trifle. You cannot break an American's head. Let me go to my own section and I'll be ready to present myself, as good as new, in ten minutes.”
“You must let Hedrick bandage your head,” she insisted. “Go with him, Hedrick.”
Grenfall arose and started toward his section, followed by Hedrick.