"That's enough for this morning. Come again at sunset, and remember, don't talk."
This admonition he repeated in self-defence. He rather dreaded the man's brook of words.
His patient bent forward slightly, put on his sun helmet and walked away, his eyes watering a little.
The man was most obedient. Punctually at sunset he again appeared. He smiled pleasantly at Warner, but did not announce himself with any long-winded speech.
Warner looked at the throat and remarked that he thought it was better, that one or two applications would set it right. He then painted as before.
This time Johnson coughed and large tears rolled slowly down his cheeks.
Then it occurred to Warner that he himself, when a child, had had his throat painted, more than once. He recollected that the operation was not a pleasant one. He had coughed a great deal, and his eyes had watered very much. Clearly he was underdoing it. No matter, he would put that right to-morrow.
Warner was pleasantly surprised when, in the morning, the local natives came to tell him that they were about to cross the river with the last of his goods, after which they would take him if he was ready to go. He had expected the job to take at least another day.
He kept back the bottle of iodine and the camel's hair brush, and sat down on a camp stool to wait for Johnson.
In about a quarter of an hour the patient arrived.