human
Now, sir! panted Harry Hawke, seizing his officer's right wrist,
gpt
Where have you got to, Den?
human
Can't say I fancy that drop you speak of, with this gammy leg of mine, said Bob ruefully;
gpt
Not arf, I 'aven't, sir, grinned the practical one, unfastening one end of the Mauser sling and tying the other round the last rung.
human
I reckon this'll do us.
gpt
Bravo, Hawke, said Dennis gratefully.
human
Now then, Bob.
gpt
No, you go first, old man.
human
See you hanged before I do, was Dennis's blunt response, and with an
gpt
Oh, very well,