“Thank you for coming, colonel,” he said, “and you too, major. Emden’s an awful tyrant when he gets us on our backs.”
“Right,” said the doctor. “Nero was nothing to me.—Now, gentlemen, just a word or two with the rest of my nursery folk, and then I must order you off.”
The colonel nodded, passed on to Captain Edwards, and said a word or two; the same followed at Dickenson’s side, where the young officer, forgetful of his wounds, gave his chief a look full of exultation, receiving a good-humoured nod in return, and Dickenson turned his face sidewise with a sigh of content.
“Wait a bit,” he said to himself. “I’ll have it out with the old man as soon as I get better. He’s bound to ask poor old Drew’s pardon. But fancy Roby turning like this.”
Meanwhile the colonel had passed on to Lennox’s side, to find him far the greatest sufferer of the party present, and unable to do more than smile his thanks and lie back, extremely weak, but with a look of calm restfulness in his eyes that told that there was nothing mental to trouble him and keep him back.
“What do you think of them, colonel?” said the doctor as soon as they were outside.
“All much better than I expected,” said the colonel.
“But what about Roby? He is quite delirious from his wound, is he not?”
“Perfectly calm, sir, with his mens much more Sana than his corpus. I thought he was all wrong at first, but he’s only weak—pulse regular, temperature as cool as a hot iron roof will let it be.” (Note: Mens sana in corpore sano.)
“But, hang it all, doctor! his head’s all in a muddle about storming the little kopje and getting the cattle and stores away.”