“It’s a lie, sir. If the enemy were after you, I’ll be bound to say you would get up and run.”
“By George, I wouldn’t!” whispered Eaton.
“Well, get up and have a go at them, my boy.”
“Perhaps I might do that,” said the young man, with the blood coming in his white face.
“Pretty sort of a soldier, lying here because you’ve had your shoulder out, and a crack on the head. Why I’ve seen men behave better after a bullet wound, or a bayonet thrust.”
“But there is no need for me to behave better, as you call it, and one gets well so much more quickly lying still.”
“With a couple of women paddling about you, and making you gruel and sop. There, get up, and I’ll make you a sling for that arm.”
“No, no, doctor. Pray, don’t.”
“Get up, sir.”
“Hush! Don’t speak so loudly,” whispered Eaton.