"Bring 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 to too fast."
Strengthened by a four-finger nip which he absorbed 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 see.
"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. 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 of 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 hand opened and Bobby's arm fell useless at his side.
"He'll do," said the Doctor quietly. "It must have been
