Dickenson gave him the names of the two men he would like to take, but had to give up one.
“Can’t sit a horse, sir; hangs on its back like a stuffed image. Now Jeffson, sir, was a gentleman’s groom. Ride anything. I wonder he isn’t in the cavalry.”
“Very well, then; warn Jeffson. There, I am done up, sergeant. I trust you to rouse me as soon as it’s dark.”
“Right, sir. But one word, sir.”
“What is it?”
“Captain Roby, sir. Keeps off his head, sir. Going on awfully. Doctor Emden says it’s due to the bullet striking his skull.”
“Dangerous?” said Dickenson anxiously.
“Oh no, sir; but he keeps on saying things that it’s bad for the men to hear; and that Corporal May, he’s nearly as bad. He thinks he’s worse. He’s within hearing, and every time the captain says anything, Master Corporal May begins wagging his head and crying, and tells the chaps about him that it’s all right.”
“Poor fellow! There, I’ll go and see them before I lie down.”
“No, sir; please, don’t,” said the sergeant earnestly. “You’ve done quite enough for one day.”