`What's up, Jack?' I asked.

`Nothing,' said Jack.

`What's up, you old fool?' I said.

`Nothing,' said Jack, `except that I'm damned proud of you, Joe, you old ass!'
and he put his arm round my shoulders and gave me a shake.
`I didn't know it was in you, Joe -- I wouldn't have said it before,
or listened to any other man say it, but I didn't think you had the pluck --
God's truth, I didn't. Come along and get your face fixed up.'

We got into my room quietly, and Jack got a dish of water,
and told one of the chaps to sneak a piece of fresh beef from somewhere.

Jack was as proud as a dog with a tin tail as he fussed round me.
He fixed up my face in the best style he knew, and he knew a good many --
he'd been mended himself so often.

While he was at work we heard a sudden hush and a scraping of feet
amongst the chaps that Jack had kicked out of the room,
and a girl's voice whispered, `Is he hurt? Tell me. I want to know, --
I might be able to help.'

It made my heart jump, I can tell you. Jack went out at once,
and there was some whispering. When he came back he seemed wild.

`What is it, Jack?' I asked.