Paul told the story just as it happened.
‘Well,’ said the assistant, ‘this is a pretty grave old case, and so I tell you. You may find yourself in trouble over this.’
‘Find myself in trouble?’ said Paul. ‘Me?’
‘Yes,’ said the assistant; ‘you.’
‘You’ve got better work in hand than talkin’ rubbish,’ Paul retorted; ‘stick to it.’
‘Ah,’ said the budding surgeon, ‘well wait till the woman’s conscious, if ever she is, and see what sort of a tale she has to tell.’
‘It’s the simple truf he’s tould ye,’ said the patient, in a feeble voice. ‘What do ye be tryin’ to frighten him for?’
‘Oh, you’re coming round, are you? asked the assistant; ‘didn’t expect it. That’s a pretty nasty crack you’ve got.’
‘Twill take more than that to kill Norah MacMulty,’ said the young woman, struggling into a sitting posture, and beginning mechanically to arrange her disordered dress. ‘The MacMultys is a fine fightin’ famly, and it runs in the blood to take a cracked skull quite kindly. I’ll be takin’ a glass at the Grapes, and then I’ll be goin’ home, but not till I’ve thanked ye kindly. Has anybody seen me bonnut?’
‘I shan’t allow you to go to the Grapes to-night, my good woman,’ said the assistant. ‘Where do you live?’