“You, Punch.”
“I don’t see nothing to laugh at, sick and weak as I am.”
“Yes, you are weak enough, and don’t know the difference as I do.”
“Difference! There ain’t no difference. I’m a regular invalid, as they calls them, and just as bad as some of our poor chaps who go back to live on the top of a wooden leg all the rest of their lives.”
“Stuff and nonsense, Punch! You are getting better and stronger every day.”
“I ain’t. Look at that arm; it’s as thin as a mop-stick.”
“Well, it is thin, certainly; but a chap of your age, growing fast, generally is thin.”
“Ya! Growing! How can a fellow grow with a hole in his back?”
“You haven’t got a hole in your back. It’s healing up fast.”
“’Taint.”