“Ah, poor lad! Well, we must hope he will turn up alive. A good officer.”
“Well, has the colonel given you leave to go?” asked Fitzgerald. “I knew he would, but Stacy did not care to take the responsibility, for fear anything should happen to you. You had better take a file of men of my company; they knew him best. I wish I could go, but I have too much to do. Of course, you will take a stretcher from the ambulance; it will be probably useful for some other fellow, if not for poor Tom.”
Directly Green had turned from Fitzgerald, a sergeant brought a man up to him.
“James Gubbins wishes to speak to you, sir,” he said, saluting.
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Gubbins when called upon to unfold his wishes, “but I heerd say as you was a-going back over them hills to look for Mr Strachan, sir.”
“Yes, Gubbins, what then?” asked Green.
“Well, sir, might I ask to go too? He was very kind to me, and I was in his ker—ker—company, sir;” and the man’s voice faltered.
“Yes, Gubbins,” replied Green, who appreciated perhaps more than others the sentiment which animated the poor fellow, for he himself had been a bit of a butt at first, and had been very grateful for Tom Strachan’s friendship. “I am to take two men of Captain Fitzgerald’s company, and you shall be one of them.”
“Thank you kindly, sir.”
“And pick another to go with him, will you, sergeant? A fellow with his wits about him, you know.”