"It seems to me, gentlemen—don't you think?—that we'll have to try what the knife can do here. Don't you think so? It's a casus perditus, anyway, isn't it? And who knows?... removal of the bone splinter—relieving the pressure on the motor-centre.... Possibly splendid results, don't you think?"
The assistants nodded, and whispered to each other and to the professor. Markus said:
"Professor, will you not let me rest in peace? I am quite resigned to my condition. I know that it will be labor lost; and I am not willing to be made unconscious."
"Come, come," said the professor, half commanding, half in pretended kindness. "Not so gloomy, not so crest-fallen. We'll just see if you can't have the use of this arm again, shall we not? You need not be afraid. Everything is safe, and no pain. Would you not like to be able again to draw on your own blouse, to cut your meat, and to fill your pipe? Come, come! Keep up courage—keep up courage. Sister, to-morrow—ten o'clock—on the operating-table."
Then to Marjon and Johannes:
"Hello, young folks, it's after four. Out of the ward, quick!"
Markus put out his hand, which they both kissed, and said: "Till I see you again."
[1] A kind of cheap music-hall.