Bracy nodded.
“Well, she is a disagreeable, tyrannical sort of female Jack-in-office; but she has her good points.”
“Yes; but they’re such sharp points, and they prick dreadfully.”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Roberts. “A joke; and you say you’re not getting better.—I say, what were we talking about? Oh, Gedge. I wish he wasn’t such an awful East-end Cockney in his ways, for he’s a splendid fellow inside. Times and times he has brightened the poor fellows up out yonder, singing and telling stories and playing some of his india-rubber games, bad as his own wounds are. I believe he’d pretend to laugh even if he were dying.”
“I can never be grateful enough to him,” sighed Bracy.
“Oh yes, you can. We must all petition for him to get his stripes as soon as we can, only it will make old Gee mad with jealousy.”
“Yes,” said Bracy thoughtfully; and then: “How long have I been lying here?”
“Three weeks, old man.”
“And you are no further with the Dwats?”
“Not a bit. That thrashing we gave them together when you went down ought to have settled ’em and made ’em sue for peace; but they began sniping at us the very next day.”