"Hark 'ee, Ben," said the old sailor, knocking the ashes from his pipe upon the hob; "you may try, but dash my timbers if you'll ever cross the Thames to-night. I’m a soldier, you see. She accepted his rejoinder with a brief nod. Ann Veronica’s desire to laugh unrestrainedly was checked by the tremendous earnestness of his expression. “Queer letters he writes,” she said. Doctors constantly admonished and offered weak consolation that most would have been hurt much worse from the type of fall he took. For the first time, perhaps, in his life, he repented of his brutality. "He has quite the air of one.
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