“This is but a specimen anecdote,” continued the doctor. “Master Thucydides Thud was always
‘As who should say, I am Sir Oracle,
And when I speak—let no dog bark.’
And Coldstream has actually brought out this owl to hoot in Moulmein!”
CHAPTER III.
DEAD OR ALIVE?
The conversation was interrupted by the return of Thud, who seemed to be slightly excited, though his visage usually expressed nothing but self-satisfaction, the solemn look befitting one with an inward consciousness that he was seated in a professor’s chair to enlighten the world with his wisdom.
“What’s the matter, boy?” asked the doctor quickly. “Where are Io and her husband?”
“Looking after a wretched native woman whom an ox has gored and trampled upon,” replied Thud. “If Oscar had not rushed up and broken his umbrella over the brute, the woman would have been killed outright. I think that she is killed,” continued the lad, “or more than half. You never saw such a horrid rush of blood from the wound! Io tied her silk scarf round the woman to stop it;—the scarf will have to be thrown away. ’Tis no use to try to save the creature. I’ve a theory,”—Thud had relapsed into his natural, or rather unnatural manner,—“that when people are atthe last gasp it’s better to leave them to die in peace.”
“We’ll remember your counsel when an ox gores you,” said the doctor tartly. He had risen from his seat on hearing of the accident, taken up his solar topi and umbrella, and was about to start with the chaplain to see if his surgical skill could avail.