"All right, governor," said the boy, in a quavering voice.
It was very near the kitchen; maids and men poured out with blankets;
eight people held one, under Rolfe's direction, and down came Mr.
Bassett in a semicircle, and bounded up again off the blanket, like an
India-rubber ball.
His quick mind recovered courage the moment he touched wool.
"Crikey! that's jolly," said he; "give me another toss or two."
"Oh no! no!" said a good-natured maid. "Take an' put him to bed right
off, poor dear."
"Hold your tongue, ye bitch," said young hopeful; "if ye don't toss me,
I'll turn ye all off, as soon as ever the old un kicks the bucket."
Thus menaced, they thought it prudent to toss him; but, at the third
toss, he yelled out, "Oh! oh! oh! I'm all wet; it's blood! I'm dead!"
Then they examined, and found his arm was severely lacerated by an old
nail that had been driven into the tree, and it had torn the flesh in
his fall: he was covered with blood, the sight of which quenched his
manly spirit, and he began to howl.
"Old linen rag, warm water, and a bottle of champagne," shouted Rolfe:
the servants flew.
Rolfe dressed and bandaged the wound for him, and then he felt faint:
the champagne soon set that right; and then he wanted to get drunk,
alleging, as a reason, that he had not been drunk for this two months.
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