Private Dormer was
certainly
"'orrid bad.
Kipling - Poems
"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 an' 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 mo 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 fishin' 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. Bobby set his lips and waited, the water dripping
from the hem of his trousers. An hour passed and the grasp of the hand
did not relax, nor did the expression on the drawn face change. Bobby
with infinite craft lit himself a cheroot with the left hand--his right
arm was numbed to the elbow--and resigned himself to a night of pain.
Dawn showed a very white-faced Subaltern sitting on the side of a
sick man's cot, and a Doctor in the doorway using language unfit for
publication.
"Have you been here all night, you young ass? " said the Doctor.
"There or thereabouts," said Bobby, ruefully. "He's frozen on to me.
