“What sort of an operation is it?” asked Jerry.
“It is on the head—there is some sort of a fracture—a bone is pressing on the brain,” was the answer. “Delicate instruments which I have not, and a skillful assistant and nurse, are needed to perform the operation; especially up here in the wilderness where there are none of the conveniences of a hospital.”
“Then we’ll have to go for another doctor,” spoke Ned.
“In my opinion, yes. And only one surgeon in this country is capable of successfully performing that operation.”
“Who is he?” asked Ned, as the country physician paused.
“He is Dr. Wallace Wright of New York, and it is doubtful if he could be induced to come away up here, even if he could be brought here in time. He is a celebrated surgeon—a high-priced one—and in great demand. I doubt if you could get him.”
At the mention of Dr. Wright’s name the boys looked at one another. Unconsciously Bob put his hand to his head, which the great surgeon had sewed up. Something in the faces of the boys made Dr. Brown ask:
“Have you heard of Dr. Wright?”
“He recently treated me,” added Bob.
“Indeed. Then you must have made a remarkable recovery,” Dr. Brown said. “For Dr. Wright seldom operates unless the case is a serious one, and you do not look as though you had recently been under his hands.”