"Tie him up in the yard then."

"No. He must go out. Dogs are not permitted on the grounds."

Macquarie rose slowly to his feet, shut his agony behind his set
teeth, painfully buttoned his shirt over his hairy chest, took up his
waistcoat, and staggered to the corner where the swag lay.

"What are you going to do?" they asked.

"You ain't going to let my dog stop?"

"No. It's against the rules. There are no dogs allowed on
premises."

He stooped and lifted his swag, but the pain was too great, and he
leaned back against the wall.

"Come, come now! man alive!" exclaimed the doctor, impatiently.
"You must be mad. You know you are not in a fit state to go out.
Let the wardsman help you to undress."

"No!" said Macquarie. "No. If you won't take my dog in you don't
take me. He's got a broken leg and wants fixing up just--just as much
as--as I do. If I'm good enough to come in, he's good enough--and--
and better."

He paused awhile, breathing painfully, and then went on.