“Poor fellow!” he said. “I must see how he is.”
He went into the large open hut in which the captain had been placed by the doctor’s orders, because it was one in which the sides had been taken off so as to ensure a good current of air. As the young officer entered he caught sight of two others of the injured lying at one end, and noted that the wounded corporal was one.
Both men were lying on their backs, perfectly calm and quiet; but Roby was tossing his hands about impatiently and turning his head from side to side, his eyes wide open, and he fixed them fiercely upon his brother officer as he entered.
“How does he seem, my lad?” said Dickenson to the attendant, who was moistening the captain’s bandages from time to time.
“Badly, sir. Quite off his head.”
“Ah! Cur!—coward!” cried Roby, glaring at him. “Coward, I say! To leave me like that and run.”
“Nonsense, old fellow!” said Dickenson, affected just as the sergeant had said he would be; and his voice sounded irritable in the extreme as he continued, “Drop that. You said so before.”
“Who’s that?” cried Roby, with his eyes becoming fixed.
“Me, old fellow—Dickenson. Not a coward, though.”
“Who said you were?”