“Well, it’s of no consequence. I’m glad to find that you re so much better, for I was told that the doctor had said—”
“What did the doctor say?” interrupted Spicer.
“Why, it’s better to tell the truth; he said it was impossible for you to get over it; that the inflammation was too great to allow of amputation now, and that it must end in mortification.”
“He said that!” said Spicer, wildly, raising himself on his elbow.
“Yes, he did; and it’s known all over the hospital.”
“Well,” replied Spicer, “he may have said so; but I think I ought to know best how I feel. He’ll be here in half an hour or so, and then I’ll put the question to him. I’m a little tired, Jack, so don’t speak to me any more just now.”
“Shall I go away, Spicer?”
“No, no, stay here. There’s a book or two; read them till I feel a little stronger.”
That my communication had had an effect upon Spicer was evident. He was startled at the idea of the near approach of death, which he had not contemplated. Alas! who is not? He shut his eyes, and I watched him; the perspiration trickled down his forehead. I took up the book he had pointed out to me; it was the History of the Buccaneers, with plates, and I thought then that it was a parallel of Spicer’s own career. I looked at the plates, for I was not much inclined to read. In a few minutes Spicer opened his eyes. “I am better now, Jack; the faintness has passed away. What book is that? Oh, the Buccaneers. That and Dampier’s Voyages were the only two books of my father’s library that I ever thought worth reading. Have, you ever read it?”
“No,” replied I, “I never have. Will you lend it to me?”