“He will only make it ever so much worse, and then you’ll have to have it done over again,” croaked Bobus.
“That is not the way to talk of it, Bobus,” said his mother. “I know a dislocated shoulder does not require any great skill, and that promptness is of greater use than knowledge in such a case.”
“Well, if you like to encourage abominable humbug and have Allen lamed for life, I don’t,” said Bobus. “I shan’t stay in the house with the blackguard.”
He stalked out of the room with great loftiness of demeanour, just as the operator was being introduced—a tall, sinewy man, with one of those strong yet meek faces often to be found among the peasantry. He came in after the old farmer, pulling his forelock to the lady, and waiting for orders as if he had been sent for to mend the grate; but Caroline saw in a moment that he was a man to trust in, and that his hands were not only clean, but were well-formed, and powerful, with a great air of dexterity.
“I am afraid my boy’s arm is put out,” she said, trembling a good deal.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And—and,” said she, feeling sick, and more desolate and left to her own judgment than ever before. “Can you undertake to push it in again.”
“Please God, ma’am,” Higg said, gravely, coming nearer for examination.
Allen shrank and shuddered.
“Won’t it hurt awfully?” he asked.