"Yes, you fellows who know nothing about your construction do get a good many absurd ideas in your head. Here, talk softly; I want to get at the cause of his trouble. He's not wounded." "Why, his skull's ploughed up, and the bone pressing on his brain." "Do you mean that for a joke--a bit of chaff, Mr Dickenson?" said the doctor stiffly. "A joke, sir? Is this a subject to joke about?" replied Dickenson. "Certainly not, sir; but you thoughtless young fellows are ready to laugh at anything." "Well, sir, you're wrong. Roby and I were never very great friends, but I'm not such a brute as to laugh and sneer when the poor fellow's down." "Who was talking about Captain Roby?" "You were, sir. You told me that his brain was suffering from pressure, and then you went on to say that you wanted to get at the cause of his hurt." "Bah! Tchah! Nonsense, man! I was talking then about Lennox." "I beg your pardon, sir." "Oh, all right, my lad. Now then; I'm talking about Lennox now. I say I want to get at the cause of his trouble without questioning him and setting his poor feverish brain working. Tell me how you found him." Dickenson briefly explained. "Humph! Utterly exhausted; been suffering from the sun, thirst, and evidently after exerting himself tremendously. Been in a complete stupor more than sleep, you say?" "Yes." "Well, it's very strange," said the doctor thoughtfully. "He was in the assault, wasn't he?" "Oh yes, of course." "Well, human nature's a queer thing, Dickenson, my lad." "Yes, sir; very," said the young man gruffly, "or Roby wouldn't behave like this and set that sneak May off on the same track." "And," continued the doctor testily, as if he did not like being interrupted, "the more I examine into man's nature the more curious and contradictory I find it--I mean, in the mental faculties." "I suppose so, sir.--What's he aiming at?" added the young officer to himself. "Now, look here, Dickenson, my lad; between ourselves, that was rather a horrible bit of business, eh?--that attack in the half-darkness." "Well, sir, it wasn't quite like an _al fresco_ ball," said Dickenson gruffly. "Of course not. Bayoneting and bludgeoning with rifle-butts?" Dickenson nodded. "And all on the top of the excitement of the march and the long waiting to begin?" "Just so, sir," said Dickenson. "Enough to over-excite a young fellow's brain?" "Well--yes, sir; it's not at all cheerful work. But, really, I don't see what you mean." "Just this, my dear boy, and, as I said, between ourselves. You don't think, do you, that just in the midst of the fight poor Lennox was seized with what you vulgar young fellows call a fit of blue funk, do you?" "No, sir, I do not," said Dickenson stiffly. "Certainly not." "Lost his nerve?" "No, sir." "I've lost mine before now, my lad, over a very serious operation--when I was young, you know." "May be, sir; but Drew Lennox is not the sort of fellow for that." "As a rule, say."