“I’m sorry for that,” said Stogumber, rising rather stiffly from the chair. “I disremember that I thanked him for what he done.”
“You did, but it’s no matter: he wanted no thanks. He’s a very good fellow. Keep quiet till you’ve drunk this coffee: it’ll make you feel more the thing.”
“If it’s all the same to you, big ’un, I’d as lief put my coat on again: I’ve got a bit chilly.”
“As you please,” John said indifferently. “I’m afraid it’s done for, however: you bled like a pig, you know! I threw it somewhere—” he glanced over his shoulder—“ay, there it is! Don’t stoop! I’ll get it for you!” He set the pan down in the hearth as he spoke, and walked over to where the coat and waistcoat lay. He had thrust the notebook under the skirt of the coat, and as he picked the coat up it was revealed. He said: “Hallo! This yours?”
“That’s right,” Mr. Stogumber said, holding out his hand, but keeping his eyes on John’s face.
But the Captain, casually giving him the notebook, seemed to be more interested in the condition of the coat. He showed the rent in it, and the wide patch of drying blood, to its owner, grimacing expressively, “You won’t wear this again,” he remarked.
“It’ll serve to keep the cold off till I get back to the Blue Boar,” said Stogumber, rather painfully inserting his arms into his waistcoat, and beginning to do up its buttons. “I got another. Not but what it fair cags me to have a good coat spoilt the way that is.”
“Who were they that set on you?” asked John, easing him into the ruined garment.
“Ah, that’s the question!” said Stogumber, resuming his seat by the fire. “A couple of ding-boys, that’s certain! I never got a chance to tout their muns, ’cos I only saw one, and he had his muns all muffled up so as his own ma wouldn’t have known him. Where was you, while I was asleep, big ’un?”
“Outside, blowing a cloud,” replied John, knowing that the hard little eyes were fixed on his face, and not raising his own from the pan he was holding over the flames. The coffee was sizzling round the edges, and after a moment he removed it from the fire, and poured it into an earthenware mug, still conscious of that unwavering scrutiny. “Do you want me to lace this?” he enquired, looking up with a smile. “You don’t seem to have a fever, so I daresay it won’t harm you if I add a dash of brandy to it.”