“You didn’t see me yesterday, and you know you didn’t,” he replied in tones hardly less savage than those of his involuntary host.
“That’s very true; I did not,” said the doctor.
“This point settled, I’ll thank you to turn to the next one, which is the patient before you.”
“You are a plain-spoken man,” added Dr. Scoville, still gazing intently into the face of the captain; who, however, returned the look as resolutely and as earnestly as it was given.
“I am; I don’t waste words when my friend is dying, for aught I know. Will you attend to this man?”
“Who is he?”
“He is a man shot through the arm, and needing instant surgical attendance,” answered De Banyan impatiently. “It isn’t necessary to know any more before you examine him.”
“Good!” exclaimed the doctor with a smile such as that in which a hyena might be supposed to indulge when pleased, if hyenas ever are pleased.
He turned to Somers, and proceeded to examine into his condition. The coat of the patient was removed from his insensible form, and he was carefully disposed on the sofa, according to the directions of the doctor; the captain and the negro women assisting in the work. Though the surgeon was as rough as a bear in his tone and manner, he was as tender as a loving mother in his treatment of the sufferer, and handled him as carefully as though he had been a new-born babe. The blood was stanched, and the wound dressed as skilfully as human hands and human knowledge could perform the operation.
“What do you think of him?” asked De Banyan, full of anxiety for his suffering companion.