“Hardly fair to call it anything the matter, my lad. Your shoulder has had a nasty wrench from the jerk with which you were brought up.”
“But it hurts so much lower down.”
“And no wonder. In two or three days your side there will be black and blue.”
“And why—what should make it so, sir?”
“Johannes’ great hand. Why, he must have gripped you there like a steel claw.”
“Yes, he did. I felt it like that. He got hold of a lot of the flesh.”
“Exactly; and a good thing, too. Better than letting you fall sixty to seventy feet.”
“Much,” said Steve dolefully.
“Humph! don’t sound as if you thought so, my boy. There, you’ve not anything serious the matter with you. The bruises will get well of themselves. But don’t look at me in that disappointed way; were you in the hope that I should perform some serious operation?”
“Ugh! No, sir.”