“Nothing. Hal’s gone, and words have no value. Can you repair this damage?”
“Yes, if the internal injuries aren’t too bad. But that’s not the point. Hal, there, goes scot free and—”
Alpheus Briggs raised his hand for silence.
“Please, no more!” he begged. “I can’t stand it, doctor. You’ve got to spare me now!”
Filhiol looked at him with understanding.
“Forgive me,” said he. “But help me with poor old Ruddy, here!”
“Ezra can help you. On a pinch, call in Dr. Marsh, if you like.”
“Oh, I think my professional skill is still adequate to set a dog’s leg,” Filhiol retorted.
“And you don’t know how grateful I am to you for doing it,” said the captain. “I’m grateful, too, for your not insisting on any more talk about Hal. You’re good as gold! I wish you knew how much I thank you!”
The doctor growled something inarticulate and fondled the whimpering animal. Alpheus Briggs forced himself to speak again.