“What has his being six feet three or four got to do with it being a pity?” said Mark sharply.
“I didn’t mean that, sir,” said Buck. “I meant it was a pity as he’s a man.”
“Why?” asked the boys in a breath. “Because if he had been only a beast, sir—I mean, a big monkey—it would have been a charity to put him out of his misery.”
“Poor wretch, yes,” said the doctor. “But you can’t do that, sir. I know what I should do if it was me.”
“What should you do, Buck?” asked Mark. “Well, sir, he arn’t nothing to us. If it was me, as I said, I should put him back again.”
“Humph!” grunted the doctor. “Well, one wants to behave in a Christian-like way to a fellow-creature. Lay him in his place there at the mouth of the cavern, where we scared him out.”
This was done, and the doctor turned to Mark. “Now, boy, what next?”
“I know,” cried Mark. “Here, Dan, what about the soup?”
“Plenty, sir—only wants making hot.”
“Be off and get a tinful, if you can find your way.”