“Yes, I suppose so.”
“The coast is a deadly one for Europeans; the society is not all that could be desired; and the man who goes must be a bit of a hero in the strife.”
“Then you want a better man.”
“No: I want you. You are the man, but I cannot let you definitely say yes without letting you see all your risk.”
“Bah, Sir Denton!” cried Neil. “What has a doctor or a surgeon to do with risk? You would not say to a man, ‘Don’t go to that house to attend the husband or wife: it is a horribly infectious fever.’”
“No; certainly not.”
“Or, ‘That man who has been crushed by a fall of rock will bleed to death, if a surgeon does not risk his own life by going to his help: don’t go.’”
“No,” replied Sir Denton quietly; “the world treats us very coolly, and gives us very little credit for what we do.”
“The world saves all its honours for its soldiers,” said Neil, smiling.
“In uniform,” said Sir Denton, “and does not recognise the fact that we, too, are soldiers, fighting the invisible enemy, Death.”