“Well, I’m blest!” muttered the poor fellow; “there’s all one side puffed out like arf a bushel basket. Here, I’ve often heard of chaps having the swelled head when they’ve got on a bit; but I won’t show it, mateys. I won’t cut your company.—Thank ye, Sergeant.”
“Fall in,” cried the Captain. “Gedge, you’ll have to be carried. Two men. Sergeant, and change often.”
“I can walk, sir, please,” cried Gedge. “Let me try. If I can’t some un can carry me then.”
“Very well, try.—Forward.”
The march was resumed, but after a few steps the injured lad was glad to grasp the arm offered him by Gee.
“Thanky, Sergeant,” he said. “Just a bit dizzy now, and I don’t want to go over the side. Better soon; but, I say, did you fetch me in?”
“No: it was Mr Bracy,” said Gee gruffly.
“Oh, him!” said the lad quietly, and with a curious look in his eyes as he gazed in the young lieutenant’s direction. “Well, thank ye, sir; much obliged,” he said in an undertone. “I’ll say so to you some time. But I say, Sergeant, talk about having a head on; I’ve got it now.”
“Yes; but don’t talk. Hullo! they’re up above us again yonder.”
“What, the Dwat you may call ’ems?”