“He deserves a good thrashing,” said Fairbairn, wrathfully.
“Never mind; don’t say anything about it, please.”
And Fairbairn promised and went.
It was quite a novel sensation for the captain to find himself figuring in the eyes of Willoughby as a “bulldog.” He knew he was about the last person to deserve the proud title, and yet such are the freaks of fortune, the exaggerated stories of the rescue, differing as they did in nearly every other particular, agreed in this, that he had performed prodigies of valour in the engagement, and had, in fact, rescued Wyndham single-handed.
More than one fellow dropped in during the evening to inquire how he was, and to confirm his new reputation.
Pilbury and Cusack were among the first.
“Is it true your leg’s broken?” cried the latter, as he entered the study, in tones of unfeigned concern.
“No, of course not,” replied the captain, laughing. “What made you think so?”
“The fellows said so. Pil and I were too far behind to back you up, you know, or we would have, wouldn’t we, Pil?”
“Rather,” replied Pil.