“Yes; a very narrow escape for you,” said Blunt firmly.—“Bring a board here, some of you.”
Two of the coolies hurried off, to return in the fast-increasing gloom with a broad plank, which was set down and Wing then lifted carefully upon it, bearing the moving very well, and only uttering a groan or two.
“Now carry him into the office.—We’ll make that the hospital, Lynn.”
“’Top littlee! ’Top littlee!” cried Wing.
“What’s the matter?” said Blunt sharply, speaking as if he felt that he had spent enough time on his patient.
“Wing wantee say much ’blige, t’ank you. Um feel deal betteh now.”
“That’s right,” said Blunt.
“Wing velly much ’flaid when he fall. Much mo’ ’flaid when come down bump, bang on stones. Misteh Blunt, young Lynn, makee feel velly happy. Not bloke all bits. Going to live long time.”
“That’s right,” said Blunt brusquely. “But look here; all your trouble came from your going to sleep when you were on sentry.”
“Yes,” said Wing dolefully. “Velly muchee solly. Sun hot—velly hungly—velly dly mouth. Can’t help go ’sleep. Misteh velly angly poo’ Chinaman?”