“Oh, indeed! Humph! I retract my words about your young mind being jelly. I see there is some substance in it growing already. But no, Syd, you are not going to be a doctor; and here we are.”
He drew up at a cottage door, where a couple of rough-looking men were waiting about, one of whom held the horse while the doctor descended, and Syd followed into the room, where a poor fellow lay in great agony with a badly fractured leg.
This was reduced, Syd looking on, and handing the doctor splints and bandages as they were required. After this the pair re-entered the gig, and drove back toward the Heronry.
“Just a quarter to nine, Syd. You’ll be back in time for breakfast.”
“I think I could set a broken leg now,” said Syd, whose thoughts were still at the cottage.
“Bless the boy!” exclaimed the doctor. “Take one off, I suppose, if it were wanted?”
“No,” said Syd, gravely, “I shouldn’t feel enough confidence to do that.”
“I should think not, indeed,” muttered the doctor, as he gave a sidelong look at his companion. “Why, you morbid young rascal, you ought to be thinking of games and outdoor sports instead of such things as this. Here we are. Ready for your breakfast?”
“Yes, I am getting hungry,” said Syd. “How long will those bones be growing together again?”
“Confound you—young dog! Go and pick grilled chicken bones. I’ll never take you out with me again. Jump out. Good-bye, sailor.”