“But how in the world could he fight like the Doctor says he did?”
“I dunno, sir,” replied Gedge, grinning. “Doctor says it was the excitement set him going, and then he couldn’t stop hisself. You know how he was a bit ago, gentlemen, when he hit out and kicked, and couldn’t help it.”
Roberts nodded.
“And he did fight wonderful, and never got a scratch. That’s what the Doctor said it was, and when he zamined his bandages he found this here under his back.”
“That! What is it?” said Drummond, now taking the object and examining it curiously.
“His complaint, sir, that kept him bad so long. The bit of iron the Doctor said he dursen’t try to get out. It worked out last night in the fight. He’s going to get well now.”
It was Roberts’s turn now to examine the little ragged scrap of discoloured iron.
“Seems wonderful,” he said, “that so trifling a thing as that should cause so much agony, and bring a man so low.”
“Oh, I dunno, sir,” said Gedge respectfully. “I had a horful toe once as got bigger and bigger and sorer till I couldn’t get a boot on, only the sole; and when my leg got as big as a Dan’l Lambert’s, some un says, ‘Why don’t you go to the orspital?’ he says, sir; and so I did, and as soon as I got there I began to wish I hadn’t gone, for there was a lot o’ doctors looked at it, and they said my leg must come off half-way up my thigh, but they’d wait a day or two first, and they did; but only the next morning one of ’em has another good look, and he gets out something—just a teeny bit of a nail as had gone into my toe out of my boot.”
“Humph!” said Roberts rather contemptuously.