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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Why can't you?" "Well, among other things, I've got the trifling matter of a paper to put to press. What's wrong?" "You know what's wrong!" "Do I?" "And you and your men let this go through, two whole weeks of it, for the sake of your little yellow-journal scarehead!" "Look here, Tyrer, I'm a busy man. Tell me what you're talking about, or ring off."
Old Bob, sitting up in bed and clutching wrathfully at the blankets, heard them relate how they had been told that Martin Tyrer was that set on walking that day, that though his missus had locked up his hat and boots, he had managed to give her the slip, and had run across the road and had got Tom Lupton's Sunday hat off him and also his best boots. Mrs.
Tyrer and I'll come and see you on Wednesday. You mustn't think of getting up. If you go out in this east wind, it will be the death of you. Really you people are mad about your Club Day you should have seen old Robert Wainwright, when I told him just now that it would be quite impossible for him to go out."
I never got the chance before, but theer he lays yon, fast by the leg! If I could ha' made shift to walk this year he could never ha' cotched me up eh, I'd ha' had a gradely laugh at him." "Well, well, ye'll happen ha' th' best on't another time," said Mrs. Tyrer soothingly. "Happen he'll noan be able to walk no more next year nor this happen he'll noan be here!
Tyrer was going to give him a very nice burying that all Upton folks were going and a good many from Thornleigh too it was to be "summat gradely" every one said. It was the kind of festivity which, as a rule, the Wainwrights much appreciated, but on this occasion they were rather affronted at being bidden to assist, and both the young men declared stoutly that they'd noan go if they knew it.
The rencontre of Morisot and Campbell at Constantinople reminds me of a somewhat similar experience. When I was camped near Ship Mountain, a messenger arrived one night from the camp of the hunters recently alluded to, asking whether we had, by any chance, a man among us possessing any surgical knowledge. One of the party, a man named Tyrer, had been gored by a buffalo and badly hurt.
Unfortunately we could give no assistance such as was needed. The accident had been a peculiar one; not alone was the nature of the injury unusual, but so were the circumstances under which it had been inflicted. Tyrer, on his way to the camp late in the afternoon, had wounded a very large buffalo.
A body would ha' thought that when he see the Gaffer laid up in's chamber on Club Day he wouldn't 'ave 'ad it in's 'eart to go castin' up at him, same's he did." But Mrs. Wainwright would say no more, Martin Tyrer was gone, poor man, an' it did not become her to judge him.
Next morning news came that Martin Tyrer had been taken very bad, and that the doctor had a poor opinion of him. When Doctor Craddock, indeed, called later in the day to see Bob Wainwright, he confirmed the report with a sigh and a shake of the head: "I am afraid the poor old fellow has done for himself," he said gravely. "It is astonishing how obstinate some of these people are.
Gross and unwieldy as it looks, the buffalo in its prime is as active as a cat. But Tyrer's antagonist was apparently unable to bend its neck, and get its head beneath its chest, so Tyrer was for a time able to hold on. His native bearer had dropped the spare gun and climbed into a tree. At length Tyrer was shaken off and flung in a heap on the ground.
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