“Good,” said Bush; he was not quite sure what his torso was, but he was not going to ask Sankey to explain all these anatomical terms.
This morning Sankey had hardly left him before he returned with a visitor.
“Captain Cogshill to inspect you,” he said. “Here he is, sir.”
Cogshill looked down at Bush upon the bed.
“Doctor Sankey gives me the good news that you are recovering rapidly,” he said.
“I think I am, sir.”
“The admiral has ordered a court of inquiry, and I am nominated a member of the court. Naturally your evidence will be required, Mr. Bush, and it is my duty to ascertain how soon you will be able to give it.”
Bush felt a little wave of apprehension ripple over him. A court of inquiry was only a shade less terrifying than the courtmartial to which it might lead. Even with a conscience absolutely clear Bush would rather—far rather—handle a ship on a lee shore in a gale than face questions and have to give answers, submit his motives to analysis and misconstruction, and struggle against the entanglements of legal forms. But it was medicine that had to be swallowed, and the sensible thing was to hold his nose and gulp it down, however nauseating.
“I’m ready at any time, sir.”
“Tomorrow I shall take out the sutures, sir,” interposed Sankey. “You will observe that Mr. Bush is still weak. He was entirely exsanguinated by his wounds.”