We were playing cricket one day as usual.  It was very hot, and I was mixing some lemon-kali at the canal, and holding up the mug to tempt Weston over, who was on the other side with his proboscis among the water-plants collecting larvae.  Rupert was batting, and a new fellow, who bowled much more swiftly than we were accustomed to, had the ball.  I was straining my ears to catch what Weston was shouting to me between his hands, when I saw him start and point to the cricketers, and turning round I saw Rupert lying on the ground.

The ball had hit him on the knee and knocked him down.  He struggled up, and tried to stand; but whilst he was saying it was nothing, and scolding the other fellows for not going on, he fell down again fainting from pain.

“The leg’s broken, depend upon it,” said Bustard-Plaster; “shall I run for my father?”

I thanked him earnestly, for I did not like to leave Rupert myself.  But Johnson Major, who was kicking off his cricketing-shoes, said, “It’ll take an hour to get round.  I’ll go.  Get him some water, and keep his cap on.  The sun is blazing.”  And before we could speak he was in the canal and swimming across.

I went back to the bank for my mug, in which the lemon-kali was fizzing itself out, and with this I got some water for Rupert, and at last he opened his eyes.  As I was getting the water I saw Weston, unmooring a boat which was fastened a little farther up.  He was evidently coming to help us to get Rupert across the canal.

Bustard’s words rang in my ears.  Perhaps Rupert’s leg was broken.  Bustard was a doctor’s son, and ought to know.  And I have often thought it must be a very difficult thing to know, for people’s legs don’t break right off when they break.  My first feeling had been utter bewilderment and misery, but I collected my senses with the reflection that if I lost my presence of mind in the first real emergency that happened to me, my attendance at Rupert’s lectures had been a mockery, and I must be the first fool and coward of my family.  And if I failed in the emergency of a broken leg, how could I ever hope to conduct myself with credit over a case of drowning?  I did feel thankful that Rupert’s welfare did not depend on our pulling his arms up and down in a particular way; but as Weston was just coming ashore, I took out my pocket-handkerchief, and kneeling down by Rupert said, with as good an air as I could assume, “We must tie the broken leg to the other at the—­”

“Don’t touch it, you young fool!” shrieked Rupert.  And though directly afterwards he begged my pardon for speaking sharply, he would not hear of my touching his leg.  So they got him into the boat the best way they could, and Weston sat by him to hold him up, and the boy who had been bowling pulled them across.  I wasn’t big enough to do either, so I had to run round by the bridge.

I fancy it must be easier to act with presence of mind if the emergency has happened to somebody who has not been used to order you about as much as Rupert was used to order me.