“Oh, it’s not very interesting,” rejoined the man of medicine, mistaking his meaning; “a simple case of slight concussion of the brain and exhaustion and shock. We have many such cases. It is quite ordinary, I assure you.”
“I guess you and I look at cases from different angles,” smiled Ralph.
“Ah; quite so! quite so!” exclaimed the Canadian surgeon, and hurried off to make his nightly inspection of the wards.
But, before he went, he had a question to ask:
“I say,—Yankees, aren’t you?”
“We are Americans,” rejoined Ralph gravely. “That is, we’re Americans all we know how to be, twenty-six hours out of the twenty-four, and three hundred and sixty-five days a year, and more on Leap Year.”
“My word! You Yankees are——”
“There’s no such word as Yankee,” struck in Percy, not knowing whether to laugh or be angry.
“Oh, well, Americans, then. Same thing! Same thing! Jolly smart people, just the same. Good-night!”
And off the little bald-headed man bounced, leaving the two lads alone.