“Couldn’t,” said the boy abruptly. “I say, where do you think our lads are?”
“Beaten, perhaps taken prisoners,” said Pen bitterly.
“Serve ’em right—cowards! To go and leave us behind like this!”
“Don’t talk so much.”
“Why?”
“It will make you feverish; and it’s of no use to complain. They couldn’t help leaving us. Besides, I was not left.”
“Then how come you to be here?” said the boy sharply.
“I came after you, to help you.”
“More old stupid you! Didn’t you know when you were safe?”
Pen raised his brows a little and looked half-perplexed, half-amused at the irritable face of his comrade, who wrinkled up his forehead with pain, drew a hard breath, and then whispered softly, “I say, comrade, I oughtn’t to have said that there, ought I?”