He blushed, turned his gaze to the wall and shook his head.
Everyone smiled.
"Well, then, off with the wretched thing."
But all exertion of virile strength was in vain. The boot did not budge. Only a low moan of suffering came from the patient.
"There's nothing to be done," said one, "little miss, let's have a bread-knife."
Anxious and with half-folded hands she had stood behind the doctors.
Now she rushed off and brought the desired implement.
"But you're not going to hurt him?" she asked with big, beseeching eyes.
"No, no, we're only going to cut his leg off," jested one of the by-standers and took the knife from her clinging fingers.
Two incisions, two rents along the shin—the leather parted. A steady surgeon's hand guided the knife carefully over the instep. At last the flesh appeared—bloody, steel-blue and badly swollen.
"Freshie, you idiot, you might have killed yourself," said the surgeon and gave the patient a paternal nudge. "And now, little miss, hurry—sugar of lead bandages till evening."