As he spoke he took a needle and silk from his case, just as if he had brought them expecting that they would be wanted, took some lint from one pocket, a roll of bandage from another, and in an incredibly short time had the wound bound up.
“Likely to be serious?” said Captain Murray.
“What, this, sir? Pooh! not much worse than a cut finger. Smart a bit. Poor, weak, girlish sort of a fellow; feeble pulse. Good thing he had fainted, and didn’t know what I was doing. Well, squire, how are you?”
Andrew Forbes lay perfectly still, ghastly pale, and with his eyes closely shut, till the doctor pressed up first one lid and then the other, frowning slightly the while.
“Can I get anything for you, doctor?” said Captain Murray.
“Eh? Oh no! He’ll be all right. Feels sick, and in a bit of pain. Let him lie there and go to sleep.”
“But he is fainting. Oughtn’t you to give him something, or to bathe his face?”
“Look here!” cried the doctor testily, “I don’t come interfering and crying ‘Fours about,’ or ‘By your right,’ or anything of that kind, when you are at the head of your company, do I?”
“Of course not.”
“Then don’t you interfere when I’m in command over one of my gang. I’ve told you he’s all right. I ought to know.”