"Never mind me," said Fessenden's. "Did it hurt ye?"
"Well, Sir,--no, Sir,--only my knee went pretty seriously into something
wet. And I believe I've turned my umbrella wrong side out. I say, Sir,
what was you doing, lying here, Sir? You don't think of remaining here
all night, I trust, Sir?"
"I've nowhere else to go," said the boy, trying to rise.
The black man helped him up.
"But this never'll do, you know! such an inclement night as this
is!--you'd die before morning, sure! Just wait till I can get my
umbrella into shape,--my gracious! how the wind pulls it! Now, then,
suppose you come along with me."
"Please, Sir, I can't walk"; for the lad's limbs had stiffened, in spite
of his angels.
"Is that so, Sir? Let me see; about how much do you weigh, Sir? Not much
above a hundred, do you? It isn't impossible but I may take you on my
back. Suppose you try it."
"Oh, I can't!" groaned the boy.
"Excuse me for contradicting you, but I think you can, Sir. I shouldn't
like to do it myself, in the daytime; but in the night so, who cares?
Nobody'll laugh at us, even if we don't succeed.
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