"Nice clean cut.

Sponge and water, youngster.

Ha, yes," he continued, as he applied the cool, soft sponge to the bleeding wound, "avoided all the vessels nicely." "Gnat, old chap," whispered Barkins, as I half supported him, "pinch me, there's a good fellow." "What for ?" I whispered back.
"Feel sicky and queer.

Don't let me faint before him." "Here, hallo! Barkins, don't turn like a great girl over a scratch-- lower his head down, boy.

That's the way.