Bracy looked at him so piteously that the young fellow coloured.
“Of course,” he said hurriedly; “I understand. Precious stupid of me to talk like that and make a fuss about being off duty for a few days, when you’re in for it for weeks. But I say, you know, you are a lot better. Old Morton said you only wanted time.”
“He told you that?” cried Bracy eagerly.
“Yes, last night when I met him and he asked me about my scratch. Said he was proud of your case, for with some surgeons you would have died. Ha, ha! He looked at my arm the while, with his face screwed up as if he pitied me for not being under his hands. I say, he’s a rum chap, isn’t he?”
“He has been very good and patient with me,” sighed Bracy; “and I’m afraid I have been very ungrateful.”
“Tchah! Not you, old fellow. We’re all disagreeable and grumble when we’re knocked over. That’s only natural. Children are cross when they’re unwell, and I suppose we’re only big children. I say, heard the news?”
“News? No; I hear nothing here.”
“Poor old man! Well, the scouts have brought in news that two more tribes have been bitten with the idea that they want their ranks thinned a bit, and so they’ve joined the Dwats; so I suppose we shall have some warm work.”
“And I am lying here as helpless as a lump of lead. No; I did not hear.”
“Why, sir, I telled you all that only this morning,” broke out Gedge.