Paul lugged half a square yard of turkey-red cotton from his pocket. ‘That’s the ticket,’ said the assistant. He folded the handkerchief.. ‘Now, hold her head up whilst I get this under it.’
Paul obeyed again, but the hair was all in a warm wet mesh of blood.
‘What are you shaking at?’ the assistant asked him. ‘You’re a pretty poor plucked un,’ he added, as he tied the bandage tight across the woman’s forehead.
‘I’m not used to it,’ said Paul, choking with nausea and pity.
‘That’s pretty evident,’ returned the other. ‘Now, get her shawl round her head whilst I hold her up. That’ll do. We must get her down to the surgery. Take her by her shoulders; there. Get your arms well under her. Heave ho! Wait a minute till I settle her dress and get a good hold of her knees. Upsy daisy; march!’
They went staggeringly, not because of the weight, but by reason of the giddiness which assailed Paul. He thought it had suddenly grown foggy, for there was a mist between him and all the dimly visible objects of the night There were coloured sparks in the mist by-and-by, and when once they had got their burden through the open hall and had laid it on a plain straight couch in the surgery, Paul was glad to sit down uninvited.
‘Take a sniff at that,’ said the assistant, pressing an un-stoppered bottle into his hand.
Paul obeyed him. The pungent ammonia brought the tears to his eyes and took his breath away, but it dispersed the fog and stilled the wheel which had been whirling in his head The assistant had taken off his coat and rolled up his shirtsleeves, and was going about his task with professional dexterity and coolness.
‘How did this happen?’ he asked.
He was Paul’s senior by three years at most, but he had as magisterial and assured a manner as if he had been fifty.