“Yes, a bruise on the leg, and, if you don’t believe me, look here,” and, dragging up his trouser, he showed me below the knee a large inflamed patch of a dusky hue, in the centre of which one of the veins could be felt to be hard and swollen.
“Has Sir John Bell seen that?” I asked.
“Not he. I wanted him to look at it, but he was in a hurry, and said I was just like an old woman with a sore on show, so I gave it up.”
“Well, if I were you, I’d go home and insist upon his coming to look at it.”
“What do you mean, doctor?” he asked growing alarmed at my manner.
“Oh, it is a nasty place, that is all; and I think that when Sir John has seen it, he will tell you to keep quiet for a few days.”
Major Selby muttered something uncomplimentary about Sir John, and then asked me if I would come home with him.
“I can’t do that as a matter of medical etiquette, but I’ll see you into a cab. No, I don’t think I should drink that whisky if I were you, you want to keep yourself cool and quiet.”
So Major Selby departed in his cab and I went home, and, having nothing better to do, turned up my notes on various cases of venous thrombosis, or blood-clot in the veins, which I had treated at one time or another.
While I was still reading them there came a violent ring at the bell, followed by the appearance of a very agitated footman, who gasped out:—