MY SUNDAY AT HOME
Admiral, and now I was watching the tail of the train disappear round the curve of the cutting.
But I was not alone. On the one bench of the down platform sat the largest navvy I have ever seen in my life, softened and made affable (for he smiled generously) with liquor. In his huge hands he nursed an empty tumbler marked "L. S.W. R."—marked also, internally, with streaks of blue-grey sediment. Before him, a hand on his shoulder, stood the doctor, and as I came within ear-shot, this is what I heard him say: "Just you hold on to your patience for a minute or two longer, and you 'll be as right as ever you were in your life. I 'll stay with you till you 're better."
"Lord! I 'm comfortable enough," said the navvy. "Never felt better in my life."
Turning to me, the doctor lowered his voice. "He might have died while that fool conduct—guard was saying his piece. I 've fixed him, though. The stuff 's due in about five minutes, but there 's a heap to him. I don't see how we can make him take exercise."
For the moment I felt as though seven pounds of crushed ice had been neatly applied in the form of a compress to my lower stomach.
"How—how did you manage it? " I gasped.
"I asked him if he 'd have a drink. He was knocking spots out of the car—strength of his constitution, I suppose. He said he 'd go 'most anywhere for a drink, so I lured on to the platform, and loaded him up. 'Cold-blooded people, you Britishers are. That train 's gone, and no one seemed to care a cent."
"We 've missed it," I said.
[367]
