“But I’m so weak, sir,” said the great helpless fellow, piteously. “I’m feeble as a child. I can hardly just hold my hand to my head.”
“Well, what can you expect?” said Oldroyd. “You lost nearly every drop of blood in your body, and it will take time to build you up again—to fill you up again,” he added, smiling.
“Yes sir, of course, sir; but can’t you give me a bottle or two of nothing as will set me to rights? We’ll pay you, you know, sir, don’t you be afraid o’ that.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of that,” said Oldroyd, smiling, “but I can give you nothing better than I am giving you. The best medicine you can have now is plenty of strong soup, the same as you had this morning.”
“Did she tell you I had soup this morning, sir?”
“Yes—hare soup,” said Oldroyd meaningly.
“Did that woman say hare soup, sir?”
“Yes, and that you were tired of rabbits. I say, Hayle, I ought to tell Sir John’s keepers.”
“Eh, but you won’t, sir,” said the man quietly.
“Why not?”