I shook my head, but stopped, for it made the room seem to turn round.
“You need not mind,” he continued, taking my hand. “It isn’t so deep as a well nor so wide as a church-door, as somebody once said. You don’t know who it was?”
“Shakespeare, sir,” I said, rather drowsily.
“Bravo, young market-gardener!” he cried, laughing. “Oh! you’re not very bad. Now, then, what are you going to do—lie still here and be nursed by Mr Brownsmith’s maid, or get up and bear it like a man—try the fresh air?”
“I’m going to get up, sir,” I said quickly; and throwing my legs off the sofa I stood up; but I had to stretch out my arms, for the room-walls seemed to run by me, the floor to rise up, and I should have fallen if the doctor had not taken my arm, giving me such pain that I cried out, and the giddiness passed off, but only came back with more intensity.
He pressed me back gently and laid me upon the sofa.
“Where did I hurt you, my boy?” he said.
“My shoulder,” I replied faintly.
“Ah! another injury!” he exclaimed. “I did not know of this. Tendon a bit wrenched,” he muttered as he felt me firmly but gently, giving me a good deal of pain, which I tried hard to bear without showing it, though the twitching of my face betrayed me. “You had better lie still a little while, my man. You’ll soon be better.”
I obeyed his orders very willingly and lay still in a good deal of pain; but I must soon have dropped off asleep for a while, waking to find it growing dusk. The window was still open; and through it I could hear the creaking of baskets as they were moved, and Old Brownsmith’s voice in loud altercation with Ike.