“’Cause there won’t be another chance till the niggers come with the next lot.—Oh yes, I didn’t think of that,” cried Peter; and after drinking a couple more cupfuls, he placed the brimmed shell upright in one corner of the stable, before proceeding carefully to bathe his companion’s face and hands, and ended by applying a succession of drenched pads to the painful, stiffened wound.
“How does that feel, sir?” he asked after a time.
“Oh Pete, I can’t tell you! It’s something heavenly. Go on, please. The necktie keeps getting so hot. Ah yes, better and better,” he sighed. “There, that’ll do,” he said at last. “You must be tired now.”
“Not me, sir,” replied the lad. “It’s easy enough. I could go on for a week—only I am glad you cried halt.”
“Yes; I thought you must be weary,” said Archie.
“No, sir, ’tain’t that, I tell you. There!” and he withdrew the silk necktie, dripping, from the bottom of the jar. “That’s sucked up the very last drop, sir. Hold still, sir, and let me lay this just on the top, and as soon as you begins to feel it too warm I will take it away and hang it up to dry. I won’t dab the place with the handkerchy, because it will feel cooler if you let it dry by itself.”
“Why, Pete, you are as good as a nurse.”
“Oh, I don’t know, sir. Tidy, like—tidy. You see, I have had two goes over the chaps in horspittle, and one can’t help picking up a bit.”
“No nurse could have done better,” said Archie in a tone full of relief.
“Well, sir, ’tain’t much to talk about. You see, I ain’t got no proper tackle—not so much as a sponge. Now, if Dr Morley was here he’d put on some lint and a bandage.”