It was quickly done, and then Lomax recommenced rubbing, working the boy’s chest so as to make it contract and expand, and all the time with perspiration dropping from his brow. Mr Rebble and Mr Hasnip both relieved him, and we boys did our best to help; but the afternoon glided on, no doctor arrived, and we felt chilled and hopeless, till all at once, after a rest, Lomax had begun again apparently as fresh as ever, and to our horror he suddenly began to whistle a merry tune.
“Lomax!” cried Mr Hasnip.
“What’s the matter, sir?”
“For goodness’ sake—at a time like this—it is too—”
“Why, haven’t I got cause to whistle, sir?” cried the sergeant merrily. “What did I tell you? Only wanted time and plenty o’ muscle.”
“What! is he reviving?”
“No, sir, he’s revived,” said Lomax. “Look at the colour coming, and his eyelids quivering. He’ll be sitting up directly. Here, you can feel his heart beating now.”
Mr Rebble went down on one knee and laid his hand upon Dicksee’s breast; then, jumping up again, he caught Lomax by the wrist.
“Heaven bless you for this!” he cried, and Mr Hasnip forgot his dignity as a master, and, taking off his hat, joined us boys in a hearty, “Hip! hip! hip! hooray!” which seemed to give the finishing impetus to our treatment, for Dicksee opened his eyes wide, struggled up into a sitting position, stared about him for a few moments, and then cried, in a harsh, unpleasant tone,—