Lawrence lifted himself up on his elbow again.
"I had a nasty fall," he said. "I thought I was done for. Where's my horse?"
"It was one I was trying. Luckily, he'll go home to his own stable, and the stablemen won't break their hearts with anxiety."
The young man spoke quite like himself; and his face began to gain in color. He pressed his hand to his head. He laughed a little. "I must have a thick skull of my own," he said.
He turned and twisted, and then he rose to a sitting posture.
The glove had dropped to the ground. He looked down at it, made a slight motion as if he would take it, then turned away.
"I'm sorry I've made such a scene as this," he said. "It's unlucky that you should have happened along here now. You see I should have come to myself all right, and nobody been frightened. Give me a hand, Lee. There! The deuce! I can't do it, though!"
Lawrence sank back on the ground, and again lay quiet.
Leander could prevent himself from wringing his hands only by remembering that he was a boy. He recalled how in all the stories of adventure he had read the right person always had a bottle of whisky or brandy to produce at the right moment. But he had nothing. He hadn't even a string in his pocket. He "went in" for the lightest possible weight when on his wheel.