"You have got the best of me, sir," Wattles said, faintly, his pain beginning to grow excessive.
"I trust that it is a mere gun-shot wound, and that you will soon be well," replied Fred.
"I don't know—I don't know," moaned the lieutenant. "It seems as though the doctor would kill me with his cursed probing and punching. Half of it is unnecessary, I believe."
"Do you hear that?" cried O'Haraty, appealing to us, in astonishment. "It's like an infant I've treated him, and now ye see how he abuses me."
"Excuse me, doctor," replied the lieutenant, faintly, "but I hardly know what I am saying, I feel so weak. Get me into the carriage as quick as possible, and take me to the barracks where I can be quiet."
"We'll do that, Wattles; but it's a great pity that you don't know who your friends are. Come along with yer carriage, ye blackguard, and don't stop there looking behind ye, as though ye were a light-house."
The latter portion of the doctor's remarks was addressed to the driver of the vehicle, who, instead of paying any attention to the words of O'Haraty, was gazing, with an anxious glance, towards the city.
"What is the spalpeen looking at?" demanded the doctor, angrily. "Come here with the horses, and waste no more time."
"I see a cloud, as though a party of horse was galloping this way, and kicking up a dust. I'm suspicious that it's the police, and divil a bit do I want to be put into limbo for being concerned in the duel," cried the driver, making preparations to turn his horses.
"Are ye certain that it's the police?" demanded O'Haraty, eagerly.