"Got it! I should think we have." It was Major Blundell who spoke.
"It's all right, Pollard, you've done the trick."
"Have I, sir?" said Tom. "I—I feel very strange."
"You will soon get over it, you are only pumped!"
"Ay," laughed another, and the voice was as sweet music to Tom, "I've seen thee worse nor this i' the Brunford Cup Tie match."
"That thee, Nick?" he said, lapsing into the Brunford vernacular, which he had been trying to correct lately.
"Ay, Tom, it's me; tha'st done a good neet's work to-neet."
Tom's brain was clearer now; he knew where he was; knew, too, that he had succeeded. Something was still hammering at his temples, and his head was aching terribly, but he didn't mind; his heart was light.
"You have done well, Pollard." It was Major Blundell who spoke.
"Was what I got any good, sir?"
"Good! I should think it was."