the
squirting, if so be as you can't put it out."

"No fear of that, Barney," I cried. "It seems as if it won't be put
out."

"Oh, it'll have to, sir, 'fore we've done with it."

"How is your wound, Dumlow?" I said, loudly. "Hurt you much?"

"Don't shout, Mr Dale, sir. I'm a-goin' out to braxfass with a lady,
and I don't want her to hear as I've had a hole punched in me, or she'll
be thinking about it all the time."

"But does it hurt you much?" I asked.

"Tidy, sir. Sometimes it's better; sometimes it's worse. 'Tarn't a
nat'ral way o' taking blue pill, and consekently it don't agree with
you. But don't you worry about that, nor me neither: I arn't killed
yet."

As Dumlow spoke, the others got carefully by me, and passed on out of
sight. Then it came to his turn.

"Stand fast, sir," he said. "I don't want to shove you down into that
hole. Looks just like my old mother's washus used to on heavy days.
She was a laundress out at Starch Green, she was, and--hff!"

"What's the matter?" I said, for the man uttered a peculiar sound.

"Just a bit of a nip from that there bullet, that's all, sir. That's
better now I'm by. 'Tis a bit steamy, though, eh?"

"Horrible," I said; "but I say, do let Mr Frewen see to your wound. It
isn't right to leave it."

"Course it ain't; but I put it to you, as a young gent who's got a head
of his own, and got it screwed on right, as you've showed us more'n
once; can I go and get a bite and sup, and can the doctor see to my leg
and go on pumping, and all at the same time?"

"Of course not, but as soon as you've had some breakfast, do have it
done."

"All right, sir, all right; and thankye heartily for what you say. Why,
dear lad, you make as much fuss over me, and my damaged post, as if it
was your uncle, or your father, or somebody else. It's very good of
you, Mr Dale, sir."

"Are you stopping to hargy anything, Neb, old man?" cried Barney, who
had returned.

"No, mate, I arn't."

"Well, then, come on. Yer can't 'spect the young lady to stand all day
a-holding the coffee-pot up in the air, while you're a-talking out all
the breath in your chest. Do send him on, sir."

"All right; coming," growled Dumlow, and he went on, leaving me to fight
with the fire, listening to the hissing and sputtering of the steam,
fire, and water, and to the steady clang-clank of the pump.

It was strange how shut in I seemed, and how lonely, in the midst of
that white vapour