"Oh, Bev," he groaned, "my game arm, ye know. Hold me up, I--"
"Dick!" cried Barnabas, supporting the Viscount's writhing figure,
"oh, Dick--it was meant for me! Are you much hurt?"
"No--nothing to--mention, my dear fellow. Comes a bit--sharp at first,
y' know,--better in a minute or two."
"Dick--Dick, what can I do for you?"
"Nothing,--don't worry, Bev,--right as ninepence in a minute, y' know!"
stammered the Viscount, trying to steady his twitching mouth.
"Come back," pleaded Barnabas, "come back and let me bathe it--have
it attended to."
"Bathe it? Pooh!" said the Viscount, contriving to smile, "pain's
quite gone, I assure you, my dear fellow. I shall be all right now,
if--if you don't mind giving me your arm. Egad, Bev, some one seems
devilish determined you shan't ride to-day!"
"But I shall--now, thanks to you, Dick!"
So they presently walked on together, but no longer unnaturally
stiff as to back, for arm was locked in arm, and they forgot to be
polite to each other.
Thus, in a while, they reached the "Chequers" inn, and were
immediately shown into a comfortable sanded parlor where breakfast
was preparing.
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