But hereupon the young Corinthian (who had been watching them languidly through the glass he carried at the end of a broad ribbon) stepped forward, though languidly, and laid a white and languid hand upon the Captain's arm.
"No, no, Sling," said he in a die-away voice, "he's a doocid fine 'bit of stuff'—look at those shoulders! and quick on his pins—remark those legs! No, no, my dear fellow, remember your knee, you hurt it, you know—fell on it when you were thrown,—must be doocid painful! Must let me take your place. Shall insist! Pleasure's all mine, 'sure you."
"Never, Jerningham!" fumed the Captain, "not to be thought of, my dear Bob—no begad, he's mine; why you heard him, he—he positively called me a—a fellow!"
"So you are, Sling," murmured the Corinthian, surveying Barnabas with an approving eye, "dev'lish dashing fellow, an 'out-and-outer' with the 'ribbons'—fiddle it with any one, by George, but no good with your mauleys, damme if you are! Besides, there's your knee, you know—don't forget your knee—"
"Curse my knee!"
"Certainly, dear fellow, but—"
"My knee's sound enough to teach this countryman manners, b'gad; you heard him say my coat was filthy?"
"So it is, Sling, my boy, devilish dirty! So are your knees—look at 'em! But if you will dismount head over heels into a muck-heap, my dear fellow, what the dooce can you expect?" The Captain merely swore.
"Doocid annoying, of course," his friend continued, "I mean your knee, you know, you can hardly walk, and this country fellow looks a regular, bang up milling cove. Let me have a try at him, do now. Have a little thought for others, and don't be so infernally selfish, Sling, my boy."
As he spoke, the Corinthian took off his hat, which he forced into the Captain's unwilling grasp, drew off his very tight-fitting coat, which he tossed over the Captain's unwilling arm, and, rolling back his snowy shirt-sleeves, turned to Barnabas with shining eyes and smiling lips.