Charge! Part 59

"And he got away unhurt?"

"Um? Yes; this time," said the black. "Next time Joeboy make hole froo um somewhere. Hate um."

"But your wound?" I said. "Is it bad?"

"Um? Only little hole. Soon grow up again."

"Now tell me, how are all the people at home-my father, my aunt, and Bob?"

Joeboy shook his head.

"What do you mean?" I said. "Haven't you seen them?"

"Um? No; all gone right away. Doppies been and burnt all up. All gone."

"What's that?" said Denham, who had been awakened by our talking-"the Boers have been and burnt up that jolly old farm?"

"Um? Yes, Boss. All gone."

"The brutes!"

Chapter Thirty Nine.

The Doctor's Dose.

"Look here, Denham," said the doctor; "you're an ill-tempered, ungrateful, soured, discontented young beggar. You deserve to surfer.-And as for you, sir," he continued, turning to me, "you're not much better."

That was when we were what the doctor called convalescent-that is to say, it was about a fortnight after our terrible experience in the old mine-shaft, and undoubtedly fast approaching the time when we might return to duty.

"Anything else, sir?" said Denham sharply.

I said nothing, but I winced.

"I dare say I could find a few more adjectives to ill.u.s.trate your character, sir," said the doctor rather pompously; "but I think that will do."

"So do I, sir," said Denham; "but let me tell you that you don't allow for our having to lie helpless here fretting our very hearts out because we can't join the ranks."

"There you go again, sir," cried the doctor. "Always grumbling. Look at you both; wounds healing up."

"Ugh!" cried Denham. "Mine are horrid." I winced again.

"Your muscles are recovering their tone."

"I can hardly move without pain," groaned Denham. I screwed up my face in sympathy.

"Your bruises dying out."

"Doctor!" shouted Denham, "do you think I haven't looked at myself? I'm horrible."

This time I groaned.

"How do you know? You haven't got a looking-gla.s.s, surely?"

"No; but I've seen my wretched face in a bucket of water," cried Denham.

"Bah! Conceited young puppy! And compared notes, too, both of you, I'll be bound."

"Of course we have, lying about here with nothing to do but suffer and fret. You don't seem to do us a bit of good."

"What!" cried the doctor. "Why, if it hadn't been for me you'd have had no faces at all worth looking at. Most likely- There, there, there! I won't get into a temper with you both, and tell you what might have happened."

"Both would have died, and a good job too," cried Denham bitterly.

"Come, come!" said the doctor gently; "don't talk like that. I know, I know. It has been very hard to bear, and you both have been rather slow at getting strong again. But be reasonable. This hasn't been a proper hospital, and it isn't now a convalescent home, where I could coax you both back into health and strength. I've no appliances or medicines worth speaking about, and I must confess that the diet upon which I am trying to feed you up is not perfect."

"Perfect, Val!" cried Denham. "Just listen to him. Everything is horrible."

"Quite right, my dear boy," said the doctor; "it is."

"The bread- Ugh! It always tastes of burnt bones and skin and grease."

"Yes," said the doctor, with a sigh; "but that's all the fuel we have for heating the oven now the wagons are burned."

"Then the soup, or beef-tea, or whatever you call it. I don't know which is worst-that which is boiled up in a pannikin or the nauseous mess made by soaking raw beef in a bucket of water."

"But it is warmed afterwards, my dear boy," said the doctor, "and it is extremely nutritious."

"Ugh!" shuddered Denham. "What stuff for a poor fellow recovering from wounds! I can't and I won't take any more of it."

The doctor smiled, and looked hard at the grumbler.

"Won't you, Denham?" he said. "Oh yes, you will; and you're going to have bits of steak to-day, frizzled on ramrods."

"Over a bone fire!" cried Denham. "I'm sick of it all."

"Come, come, come! you're getting ever so much stronger, both of you."

"But are we really, doctor?" I said; "or are you saying this to cheer us up?"

"Ask yourselves, boys. You know as well as I do that you are. Climb up on the wall this morning and sit in the sunshine; but mind you keep well in shelter. I don't want one of the Boers to undo in a moment what has taken me so long to do."

"Oh, I don't know," said Denham dismally. "We're poor sort of machines-always getting out of order."

"Have you two been falling out?" said the doctor, turning to me.

"No," I said; "we haven't had a word. Denham's in rather a bad temper this morning."