This narrow escape sobered him, and I am bound to say that his gratitude was profuse.
“You are a brave man,” he said, “and had it not been for you by now I should be wherever bad people go. I’ll not forget it, Mr. Quatermain, and if ever you want anything that John Robertson can give, why, it’s yours.”
“Very well,” I answered, being seized by an inspiration, “I do want something that you can give easily enough.”
“Give it a name and it’s yours, half my place, if you like.”
“I want,” I went on as I slipped new cartridges into the rifle, “I want you to promise to give up drink for your daughter’s sake. That’s what nearly did for you just now, you know.”
“Man, you ask a hard thing,” he said slowly. “But by God I’ll try for her sake and for yours too.”
Then I went to help to set the leg of the injured man, which was all the rest I got that morning.
