“Eh? Did you, my lad?”
“Yes, sir; d’reckly after breakfast.”
“So you did. I went to sleep afterwards, and it passed out of my memory. I’m getting weaker, I suppose.”
“Not you,” cried Drummond. “Here, I say, as I’m a cripple too, I shall come on more. What do you say to a game or two every day? Chess?”
Bracy shook his head.
“Of course not; chess is hard work. Well, then, draughts?”
Bracy shook his head again.
“Right; not much of a game. What do you say to dominoes? We’ve got a set of double doubles; regular big ones. Shall I bring ’em on?”
“No,” said Bracy decisively; “bring your field-glass, and come and sit at that window. You can command a good deal of the valley there.”
“What! and tell you all the movements I can make out? To be sure, dear boy. Now, I never thought of that. So I will. I’ll come on this afternoon, and you and I will criticise them all and see if we could have planned the beggars’ attack better. There, I promised your she-dragon of a nurse not to stay long, so off I go. Bye, bye, old chap; you’re beginning to look blooming. We’ll do some Von Moltke, and—ah! would you? I say, you are getting better. Larks—eh? But I was too quick for you.”