"How long have you been in the Service, sir?" asked Kep indignantly, as his busy fingers were fastening the instrument and stopping the bleeding.
"Five years, sir."
"A jolly sight too long. I'll have you disrated. Bring the anesthetics at once. Here, you're too slow. I'll manage that. Get out the instruments. Lively does it. Bear a hand, while I send the man off."
"Yes, certainly, the largest amputating knife; this poor man has a thigh like an ox."
The attendant bustled now; at the same time he was utterly surprised at the audacity of this boy of barely fifteen.
The man was asleep, and would be kept so.
Kep had taken off his jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and looked at the instruments. He knew that every one of them was chemically clean, and saw that everything was handy on the table.
"What, sir! Excuse me, sir, but you are surely not going to operate?"
"Undoubtedly I am. Don't you know that on board of the old Victory in Nelson's day a loblolly boy cut the limbs from no less than five sailors while the battle was raging? Now then," he added, "stand by to hand me what I want."
He made the flaps Secundem Artem and sawed the bone.