That evening the captain joined Dr. Gys on deck.
"That German, Lieutenant Elbl," he began.
"Oh, is that his name?" asked Gys.
"Yes. Will he get well?"
"Certainly. What is a foot, to a man like him? But his soldiering days are past."
"Perhaps that's fortunate," returned the captain, ruminatively. "When I was a boy, his father was burgomaster—mayor—in Munich. People said he was well-to-do. The Germans are thrifty, so I suppose there's still money in the Elbl family."
"Money will do much to help reconcile the man to the loss of his foot," declared the doctor.
"Will he suffer much pain, while it is getting well?"
"Not if I can help it. The fellow bears pain with wonderful fortitude. When I was in Yucatan, and had to slash my face to get out the poisoned darts of the cactus, I screamed till you could have heard me a mile. And I had no anaesthetic to soothe me. Your lieutenant never whimpered or cringed with his mangled foot and he refused morphine when I operated on it. But I fooled him. I hate to see a brave man suffer. I stuck a needle just above the wound when he wasn't looking, and I've doped his medicine ever since."
"Thank you," said Carg; "he's my cousin."