“That's the very reason why you should keep that arm out of danger till you get back. Jostling round in a crowd.”
“Is this my arm or yours?” thundered Burns.
Buller laughed. “Don't knock me down with it, Pepper-pot. It may be your arm, but you're my patient, and I—”
“Don't you fool yourself. If you won't fix me up I'll go out with it hanging, I can judge my own condition. Will you dress me and put any arm in this sling here, or must I send for Grayson? He's none of your idiotic conservatives.”
“Keep quiet, and I'll make you look pretty, little boy. I see—these are new clothes just home from the tailor, and they're an elegant fit. Bully fresh scarf, peach of a pin, brand-new black silk sling—Oh, I say!”
For with his good left arm Burns was threatening his professional friend in a way that looked ominous. But a laugh was in his eye, now that he had got his way, and the altercation ended in a fire of jokes. Then Burns stood up.
“You're a jewel, Buller boy,” said he. “You've brought me through in great shape. It was a nasty fracture, and you've given me an arm that'll be as good as new. I'm grateful—you know that. Now, if you'll look over that list I gave you of cases here in the city, and go out once to take a look at Letty Tressler, I'll be ever faithfully yours. Griggs'll see to my village practice. Now I'm off.”
“Hope you enjoy your trip. Must be a concentrated pleasure, to be crammed into five days and still make you look like a schoolboy just let out,” observed Buller as Burns turned, with his band on the door-knob.
“A dose doesn't have to be big to be powerful,” rejoined Burns, opening the door.
“Nitro-glycerin, eh?” Buller called after the departing bulk of his friend. “Don't let it carry you too far up. You might come down with a thud!”