At length he appeared and said-- "Well, I think that we shall be able to save the foot, though I can't be quite sure for another twenty-four hours.

The worst symptoms have abated and his temperature is down by two degrees.
Anyway he will have to stay in bed and live on light food till it is normal, after which he might lie in a long chair on the stoep.
On no account must he attempt to stand." I thanked him for his information heartily enough and asked him if he knew where Marnham was, as I wanted to speak to him with reference to the despatch of Footsack to fetch the oxen from Pretoria.
"Not up yet, I think," he answered.

"I fancy that yesterday was one of his 'wet' nights, excitement of meeting strangers and so on." "Wet nights ?" I queried, wishing for a clearer explanation.
"Yes, he is a grand old fellow, one of the best, but like most other people he has his little weaknesses, and when the fit is on him he can put away a surprising amount of liquor.

I tell you so that you should not be astonished if you notice anything, or try to argue with him when he is in that state, as then his temper is apt to be--well, lively.

Now I must go and give him a pint of warm milk; that is his favourite antidote, and in fact the best there is." I thought to myself that we had struck a nice establishment in which to be tied, literally by the leg, for an indefinite period.
I was not particularly flush at the time, but I know I would have paid a #100 to be out of it; before the end I should have been glad to throw in everything that I had.