“Don’t people who are wounded for the first time get all kinds of cock-and-bull notions into their heads, sir? There, go to sleep and forget all about it. Healthy smarting is what you feel. Why, you’ll be able to limp about the deck with a stick to-morrow.”
“Do you mean it, sir?”
“Of course.”
Barkins gave him a grateful look, and Mr Reardon shook hands, nodded, and left us to ourselves for a moment, then the doctor thrust in his head again.
“Here, lads,” he said, “Smith’s all right, I’ve made a capital job of his arm. Your turn next, Herrick. Good-bye.”
This time we were left alone.