“No,” said Carey. “You go; I must stop with the doctor.”
“Doctor not go,” said the black, thoughtfully. “Hole in leggum. Jackum won’t go. ’Top ’long o’ Car-ee.”
“Better give it up as a bad job, sir,” said Bostock, from the light. “He means he won’t go away and leave you. They’re rum chaps, these black fellows, when they take to a man.”
“Because they won’t leave me, Bob?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then some white fellows are as queer, don’t you think so?”
Bostock chuckled, but made no reply.
“Bob,” said Carey, suddenly, “it is quite plain, isn’t it, that we can’t move the doctor?”
“Well, sir, I s’pose so.”
“Then it is impossible for me to leave him. If there is an explosion I hope and pray that we two may escape.”