“Badly hurt?”
“Badly hurt.”
I knew he was; I need not have asked the question. He never meant to go back to New England!
Bladburn was lying on the stretcher in the hospital-tent The surgeon had knelt down by him, and was carefully cutting away the bosom of his blouse. The Latin grammar, stained and torn, slipped, and fell to the floor. Bladburn gave me a quick glance. I picked up the book, and as I placed it in his hand, the icy fingers closed softly over mine. He was sinking fast. In a few minutes the surgeon finished his examination. When he rose to his feet there were tears on the weather-beaten cheeks. He was a rough outside, but a tender heart.
“My poor lad,” he blurted out, “it's no use. If you 've anything to say, say it now, for you 've nearly done with this world.”
Then Bladburn lifted his eyes slowly to the surgeon, and the old smile flitted over his face as he murmured,
“Quite so.”