“Yes. He objected strongly, but it had to be done. He threatens to commence an action against me when he gets home—so I hear.”
They had been moving towards the shelter of corrugated iron beneath which the officers lay, each of whom greeted them with a smile. They were all badly wounded, but looked restful and contented, as wounded men do who have achieved a victory.
Roby seemed to be the most cheerful, and he beckoned to the colonel to come closer, while the doctor cocked his eye rather drolly and in a way that the chief did not understand.
“Well, Roby,” said the colonel, “you look better.”
“Well, for a man who has had the top of his head rasped by a bullet and got a hole right through his leg, I call myself a wonder.”
“Does your wound pain you much?”
“Quite enough; but there, I don’t mind. We’ve whipped.”
“Yes,” said the colonel, smiling; “we’ve whipped, thanks to every one’s gallant behaviour. You did splendidly, Roby.”
“Did my best, sir,” said the captain quietly. “But I’m not quite as I should like to be,” he continued confidentially. “Don’t take any notice. I can’t quite understand about my hurt on the head.”
“Indeed?” said the colonel, frowning.