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Updated: May 18, 2025
"A thousand!" exclaimed the startled Mrs. Scutts. "Have you took leave of your senses, or what?" "I read a case in the paper where a man got it," said Mr. Scutts. "He 'ad his back 'urt too, pore chap. How would you like to lay on your back all your life for a thousand pounds?" "Will you 'ave to lay abed all your life?" inquired his wife, staring. "Wait till I get the money," said Mr.
"'Appened to fall an' 'urt 'isself?" repeated the Postilion, winking knowingly, "'urt 'isself, says you 'Walker! says I, 'Walker!" with which he laid his forefinger against the side of his nose and winked again. "What might you be pleased to mean?"
I joined up in '14 like a bloody fool. At first I didn't care a damn for anything. Then I was wounded on the Somme an' sent across to Blighty. I dreaded comin' back agin. I only 'ad a little wound in me 'and, an' I used ter plug it wi' dubbin' an' boot-polish ter keep it raw. It didn't 'alf 'urt, but it gave me a extra week or two in 'orspittle.
'But 'e hain't got no toes to give 'im the feelin' of 'is toes in 'is mind or henywheres else. 'Dummed old fool! sez the doctor, quite losin' 'is temper, fer father is terr'ble provokin'. 'It's the feelin' 'is toes used to give 'im, an' that same feelin' of toes keeps up after 'is toes is gone. 'Well, sez father, an' me tryin' to ketch 'is eye to make 'im stop, 'I don't git no feelin' of toes till me toes is 'urt.
"An' wot 're you snifflin' about?" he burst out at me, with renewed rage. "'Cos you've 'urt yer pore little leg, pore little mamma's darlin'." I was not sniffling, though my face might well have been drawn and twitching from the pain. But I called up all my resolution, set my teeth, and hobbled back and forth from galley to cabin and cabin to galley without further mishap.
I saw him rescuing wounded comrades, tending them in the trenches, encouraging them and heartening them when he himself was discouraged and sick at heart. "You're a-go'n' 'ome, 'Arry! Blimy! think o' that! Back to old Blightey w'ile the rest of us 'as got to stick it out 'ere! Don't I wish I was you! Not 'arf!" "You ain't bad 'urt! Strike me pink!
'Why, that's just what the hooligans all say! laughed Vida. 'And, like you, they think that if a woman wants justice for other women she must have a grievance of her own. I've heard them ask Ernestine in Battersea she has valiant friends there "Oo's 'urt your feelin's?" they say. "Tell me, and I'll punch 'is 'ead." But you aren't here to listen to me! Vida caught herself up.
It's you making that noise that excites 'im, I think. P'r'aps if you keep quiet he'll leave go. Come off, Joseph, old boy, there's a good doggie. That ain't a bone. "'It's no good talking to 'im like that, ses Mr. Bunnett, keeping quiet but trembling worse than ever. 'Make him let go. "'I don't want to 'urt his feelings, ses Bob; 'they've got their feelings the same as wot we 'ave.
"It must 'ave bin a fire by the way I see yer run. W'y was yer runnin' so 'ard?" Then his face darkened. "I wonder 'ow the poor bloke feels, that fell down an' 'urt 'imself?" "D'ye think 'e knows enough ter give us away?" asked Chook, anxiously. "No fear," said Jonah. "I make the Ivy Street Push a present of that little lot."
I have never seen a finer display of pure grit than Walter's. "Easy now!" he said. "Can't feel anything below me waist. I think I'm 'urt down there." We worked as swiftly and as carefully as we could. We knew that he was badly wounded, for the earth was soaked with blood; but when we saw, we turned away sick with horror.
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