'Think you're to be
congratulated
on this case.
Kipling - Poems
"
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. "
Dormer's mouth shut with a click. He turned his head and sighed. The
clinging band opened, and Bobby's arm fell useless at his side.
"He'll do," said the Doctor, quietly. "It must have been a toss-up all
through the night.
'Think you're to be congratulated on this case. "
"Oh, bosh! " said Bobby. "I thought the man had gone out long
ago--only--only I didn't care to take my hand away. Rub my arm down,
there's a good chap. What a grip the brute has! I'm chilled to the
marrow! " He passed out of the tent shivering.
Private Dormer was allowed to celebrate his repulse of Death by strong
waters. Four days later, he sat on the side of his cot and said to the
patients mildly: "I'd 'a' liken to 'a' spoken to 'im--so I should. "
But at that time Bobby was reading yet another letter--he had the most
persistent correspondent of any man in camp--and was even then about to
write that the sickness had abated, and in another week at the outside
would be gone. He did not intend to say that the chill of a sick man's
hand seemed to have struck into the heart whose capacities for affection
he dwelt on at such length. He did intend to enclose the illustrated
programme of the forthcoming Sing-song whereof he was not a little
proud. He also intended to write on many other matters which do not
concern us, and doubtless would have done so but for the slight feverish
headache which made him dull and unresponsive at mess.
"You are overdoing it, Bobby," said his skipper. "'Might give the rest
of us credit of doing a little work.
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. "
Dormer's mouth shut with a click. He turned his head and sighed. The
clinging band opened, and Bobby's arm fell useless at his side.
"He'll do," said the Doctor, quietly. "It must have been a toss-up all
through the night.
'Think you're to be congratulated on this case. "
"Oh, bosh! " said Bobby. "I thought the man had gone out long
ago--only--only I didn't care to take my hand away. Rub my arm down,
there's a good chap. What a grip the brute has! I'm chilled to the
marrow! " He passed out of the tent shivering.
Private Dormer was allowed to celebrate his repulse of Death by strong
waters. Four days later, he sat on the side of his cot and said to the
patients mildly: "I'd 'a' liken to 'a' spoken to 'im--so I should. "
But at that time Bobby was reading yet another letter--he had the most
persistent correspondent of any man in camp--and was even then about to
write that the sickness had abated, and in another week at the outside
would be gone. He did not intend to say that the chill of a sick man's
hand seemed to have struck into the heart whose capacities for affection
he dwelt on at such length. He did intend to enclose the illustrated
programme of the forthcoming Sing-song whereof he was not a little
proud. He also intended to write on many other matters which do not
concern us, and doubtless would have done so but for the slight feverish
headache which made him dull and unresponsive at mess.
"You are overdoing it, Bobby," said his skipper. "'Might give the rest
of us credit of doing a little work.
