“Well, yes, lad; I got a tidy chop aside of the head, and a kick in the ribs from a horse in the scrummage. Leastwise, it wasn’t a kick, ’cause it was done with a fore leg, when somebody’s horse reared up after I’d cut his master down.”
“And there is some one else wounded?”
“Yes, sir—Duggen.”
“Badly?”
“Tidy, sir; tidy chop. But we shall soon mend again. Bark ’ll grow over, same as it does when we’ve chopped an apple tree. I was afraid, though, as you was badly, sir?”
“Was I wounded, Samson? I feel so weak.”
“Wounded, sir! Well, it was a mercy you wasn’t killed!”
“It seems all so confused. I cannot recollect much.”
“Of course you can’t, sir. All the sense was knocked out of your head. But it’ll soon come back again.”
“Samson!”