“Where to? Which doctor?” asked Luke, over his shoulder.
“Dr. Mathews—he’s the one the Millers use,” directed Tom. “Is that all right, Ned?”
Ned nodded.
Dr. Mathews’ office was at his house, and luckily they caught him in. Ned was wearing a hunting coat, and an ordinary coat under it. The doctor put him in a chair, and not saying “by your leave” swiftly and skilfully cut away the layers of cloth, and ripping up the shirt underneath laid bare the shoulder.
Tom, gazing, beheld a group of little round, blue holes, and some smears of blood.
“Oh, dear!” he groaned. “Isn’t that awful!”
The doctor was delicately inserting a slender steel probe into one of the holes. Ned, hunched over, holding his breath and clenching his teeth, feared a sorry time.
“Does it hurt you much?” asked the doctor, gently exploring with the probe.
“N-n-no, it doesn’t,” replied Ned, relieved. He could not feel the probe at all.
“Numb, eh?” remarked the doctor. “Well, that’s good.”