“I’m sorry to tell you, old fellow, that I must operate on your neck to-day. Your wound is in a very dangerous condition indeed. It should have been operated upon a week or ten days ago. You shall have breakfast with us this morning, as you’ll need all your strength. Of course I can’t chloroform you till your breakfast is digested, so I’ll not operate till a little after noonday.”
“You needn’t give me the chloroform at all,” answered Kilgariff.
“But, my dear fellow, the pain will be—”
“I’ll stand it.”
“But the operation will be a very delicate one, so near to the carotid artery that a mere flinch from the knife might end your life at once.”
“I’ll not flinch,” said the resolute young man.
“But what objection have you to an anæsthetic? Your heart and lungs are in perfect condition. There’s not the slightest danger—”
“Danger be hanged!” interrupted Kilgariff. “I am not thinking of danger or caring about it. But chloroform always leaves me helplessly ill for many days, and I mustn’t be ill or helpless just now. I am going back to the lines to-morrow. One night’s sleep after your operation will put me sufficiently in condition.”
“But you’re not fit for duty.”