This was done, Wing groaning softly the while.
“Bones all right,” said Blunt half to himself; “joints move easily—no dislocation. That hurt you very much, Wing?”
“N-no. Hultee evelywheh else.”
“Does that mean the spine is injured?” whispered Stan anxiously.
“I’m afraid so,” was the reply.
Wing looked sharply from one to the other.
“Young Lynn say bote leg bloke light off?”
“No,” said Blunt, smiling; “he didn’t say anything of the kind. They’re quite sound. Now then, I will not hurt you much. I’m going to feel whether your ribs are broken.”
“No, no; much betteh let be. All bloke littlee bit.”
“I don’t think so,” said Blunt, passing his hands softly down the man’s sides over and over again from armpits to hips. “Now breathe, Wing.”