“Oh, of course; I remember. You shot together some time ago.”
“Yes, sir,” said Denham, “and I had a grand time with Val Moray, here—big game shooting.”
“Not such big game shooting as you are going to have here,” said the Colonel. “I’m glad to see you so much better, Denham. Be careful, and mind what the doctor says to you.”
He hurried away, and as soon as he had passed out of sight the Sergeant, with his arm in a sling, came up from where he had been waiting to ask how his young officer fared, giving me a friendly nod at the same time.
“Oh, there’s nothing the matter with me, Briggs,” said Denham. “I shall be all right now. Thank you heartily, though, for what you did for me.”
“Did for you, sir?” said the Sergeant gruffly. “I did nothing, only just in the way of duty.”
“Oh, that was it—was it?” said Denham. “Then you did it uncommonly well—didn’t he, Moray?”
“Splendidly,” I said, with a fair display of enthusiasm.
“Look here, you, sir,” said the Sergeant very gruffly as he turned upon me; “young recruits to the corps have got all their work cut out to learn their duty, without criticising their superior officers. So just you hold your tongue.”
“That’s a snub, Moray,” said Denham; “but never mind.—Look here, Sergeant, how’s your wound?”