“No, no, don’t do that,” cried my companion in misfortune.
“You were wishing just now that you could make me laugh,” I said, by way of protest.
“Yes, old chap; but I didn’t know then what the consequences would be. It makes you look awful. I say, don’t do it again, or I shall grow horribly low-spirited. You did get knocked about. I say, though, do I look as bad as you do?”
“I believe you look ten times worse,” I said, trying to be cheerful and to do something in the way of retort.
“No, no; but seriously, do I look very bad?”
“Awfully!” I said.
“Oh, I say! Come, now, how do I look?”
“Well, there’s all the skin off your nose, where you scratched against the rock.”
“Ye–es,” he said, patting his nose tenderly; “but it’s scaling over nicely. I say, what a good job I didn’t break the bridge!”
“It was indeed,” I said.