He was not used to letter-writing.
'Beg y' pardon, sir,' said a voice at the tent door; 'but Dormer's
'orrid bad, sir, an' they've taken him orf, sir.'
'Damn Private Dormer and you too!' said Bobby Wick, running the
blotter over the half-finished letter. 'Tell him I'll come in the
morning.'
''E's awful bad, sir,' said the voice hesitatingly. There was an
undecided squelching of heavy boots.
'Well?' said Bobby impatiently.
'Excusin' 'imself before'and for takin' the liberty, 'e says it would be
a comfort for to assist 'im, sir, if '
'Tattoo lao! Get my pony! Here, come in out of the rain till I'm
ready. What blasted nuisances you are! That's brandy. Drink some;
you want it. Hang on to my stirrup and tell me if I go too fast.'
Strengthened by a four-finger 'nip' which he swallowed without a
wink, the Hospital Orderly kept up with the slipping, mud-stained,
and very disgusted pony as it shambled to the hospital tent.
Private Dormer was certainly ''orrid bad.' He had all but reached
the stage of collapse and was not pleasant to look upon.
'What's this, Dormer?' said Bobby, bending over the man. 'You're
not going out this time. You've got to come fishing with me once
or twice more yet.'
The blue lips parted and in the ghost of a whisper said, 'Beg y'
pardon, sir, disturbin' of you now, but would you min" oldin' my'
and, sir?'
Bobby sat on the side of the bed, and the icy cold hand closed on
his own like a vice, forcing a lady's ring which was on the little
finger deep into the flesh.
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