“Yes, sir; but you go on,” replied the man, who had winced from the pain he suffered.
“Yes, go on, sir,” growled the sergeant. “You’re too easy with him. He’s a man—not a gal. Never mind making him squeak. Our last surgeon used to say it did good and set up a healthy action.”
“Hah!” whispered the man through his set teeth. “That was sharp, sir.”
“Yes, but I’ve got the bullet,” said Dick.—“Now, Sergeant, bathe away, and the wound will soon heal.”
“Oh, yes.—You needn’t lie up, Joe, my lad.”
“Not going to, Sergeant.”
“You can sit out in the yard for a few days and smoke your pipe, or go in and talk to the horses. And, if I was you, I should let one of the fellows in the bazaar drill a hole through that bullet and put a bit of gold wire through it, so that you can wear it on your watch-chain.”
“Yes,” said the man gravely.—“Been awkward, I s’pose, sir, if it had gone a bit farther?”
“Very,” said Dick, who could not help feeling amazed at the calm way in which the stalwart gunner seemed to trust him.
“Heart, sir?”