"What did he say?" whispered the attendant, after Dick had hurriedly babbled a few words. "Marks," said the sergeant; "Marks--he's thinking about the scars that there'll be upon his face." CHAPTER THIRTY ONE. DOWN IN THE DUMPS. It was in the hospital by the invalid's side. "Don't you look like that!" said Jerry. "I know how it is! You're getting better, and are able to think more. When you were ten times as bad, you never used to look so down and say you would never get right again!" Jerry looked at Brumpton as he delivered himself of this oracular speech, and the fat sergeant declared that he was right; but Dick did not believe either of them. "I've got some news for you, too." "Look here," said Brumpton. "I must be off. Stop with him as long as you can, Jerry Brigley.--I say, why don't you have your flute, and practise a bit?" Dick looked up from the easy-chair in which he lay back, and his eyes brightened; but they turned dull again, and he shook his head. As soon as the sergeant had gone, Dick spoke. "What is your news?" he said, feebly. "Shan't tell you, if you don't pluck up a bit! You ought to be well by now. Why, it is a whole blessed month since that unlucky night, and here have you been bad ever since with burning and fever; and it's been a wonder to me as nobody understood what you were talking about. You let the cat out of the bag lots of times, but I was the only one as understood the connundydrum." "Tell me your news," said Dick, wearily. Jerry picked up a bouquet standing in water, sniffed it, and set it down again, watching the patient furtively as he went on ignoring the question. "Here was Mr Lacey knocked up for a few days after his singeing, and gets right again, though his head of 'air is still orful to be'old; and it's on'y by cutting the other side so short as to make something like a match to the singed-off side where he was burnt that I made him able to go out when he got better. Soldiers do wear their hair pretty close, but his head looked quite indecent; and, as for his starshers, they're like a bit o' black toothbrush worn stumpy." "You said that you had some news," said Dick, angrily. "And then there's him as ought to ha' been the worst of all you three. He got burnt a deal, but it was mostly about the clothes. The padding in his uniform seemed to save him. I say--what are you going to do with yourself to-day?" "Nothing." "Let me give you a shampoo and a touch up." Dick shook his head impatiently, and lay back, a shadow of his former self. "You'd better!" "Don't worry me, Jerry! You said you had some news." "It's a letter," said the man, looking at him curiously. "A letter?" cried Dick, starting; but the interest he took was only momentary, and his eyes half-closed again. "Yes, a letter. I've had it two days, and didn't like to give it to you before." "Why not?"