Bingley lifted his head feebly.
"Just like Dobbs," he said, "get us into a scrape, and then cut."
"Hush—don't say anything," said Joel, rushing frantically back, "I think he's dead—oh, Bingley, I'm sorry I hurt you too."
He was rapidly pouring water into the basin, and dashing it into Dobbs' unconscious face. "I must go for the doctor," he groaned. "Bingley, he can't be dead—do say he isn't!" in a flood of remorse.
Bingley managed to roll over and look at his late leader. "He looks like it," he said; "I shouldn't think you'd be sorry, Pepper."
"Oh!" groaned Joel, quite horror-stricken, and dashing the water with a reckless hand, feeling like a murderer all the time.
"Bingley, could you manage to do this?" at last he cried in despair. "I must run for a doctor, there's not a minute to lose."
"I wouldn't go for any doctor," advised Bingley cautiously; "see; his eyelids are moving—this row will be all over town if you do."
But Joel was flying off. "Come back!" called Bingley, "I vow he's all right; he's opened his eyes, Pepper."
Joel turned; saw for himself that Dobbs was really looking at him, and that his lips moved as if he wanted to say something.