“Sulphas Zinci—Stomach, Arteri, pump, otomy-must—legs—hot-toddy—to bleed him—lectricity—hot blister—flat-irons—open his—windpipe but still I said never a word, but rubbed his feet, wondering whether I would ever acquire as much knowledge as my fellow students showed the possession of. By the by, I was the only one that was doing anything for the patient, the others being too busy discussing the case to attend to the administration of any one of the remedies proposed.
“I say stimulate, the system is sinking,” screamed a tall, stout-looking student, as the Indian slid down towards the foot of the bed.
“Bleeding is manifestly and clearly indicated,” retorted a bitter rival in love as well as medicine, “his muscular action is too excessive,” as Tubba made an ineffectual effort to throw his body up to the top of the mosquito bar.
“Bleeding would be as good as murder,” said Number 1.
“Better cut his throat than stimulate him,” said Number 2.
“Pshaw!”
“Fudge!”
“Sir!”
“Fellow!”
“Fool!”