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Recognizing the Gadfly, whom he already regarded
as his natural protector, he wriggled off
the sofa, and, much encumbered by the folds of
his blanket, came up to nestle against him. He
was by now sufficiently revived to be inquisitive;
and, pointing to the mutilated left hand, in which
the Gadfly was holding a piece of cake, asked:
"What's that?"
"That? Cake; do you want some? I think
you've had enough for now. Wait till to-morrow,
little man."
"No--that!" He stretched out his hand and
touched the stumps of the amputated fingers and
the great scar on the wrist. The Gadfly put down
his cake.
"Oh, that! It's the same sort of thing as what
you have on your shoulder--a hit I got from
someone stronger than I was."
"Didn't it hurt awfully?"
"Oh, I don't know--not more than other
things. There, now, go to sleep again; you have
no business asking questions at this time of night."
When the carriage arrived the boy was again
asleep; and the Gadfly, without awaking him,
lifted him gently and carried him out on to the
stairs.


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