“Getting a bit drier now.” Then, seeing a surprised look in his brother officer’s countenance, he said quietly, “I’m a soldier, sir, and we’ve no time for thinking if there’s another comrade gone out of our ranks.”
“No,” said Roby laconically, and he hold out his hand, in which Dickenson slowly laid his own, looking rather wistfully as he felt it pressed warmly. “I—I hope we shall be better friends in the future, Dickenson,” said the captain rather awkwardly.
“I hope so too, sir,” replied Dickenson, but there was more sadness than warmth in his tones as his hand was released.
“Yes; soldiers have no time for being otherwise.—There!”
The captain sprang up, and Dickenson stiffly followed his example.
“Fall in, my lads.—Well, corporal, how are you now?”
“Head’s horrid bad, sir; but this bit of a rest has pulled me together. I should like to fall out when we get near the way down to the spring.”
“Of course, my lad, of course.—Here, any one else like a drink?”
“Yes, sir,” came in chorus from the rank.
“All of us, please, sir,” added the sergeant.