"Not at all," expostulated Dixon. "I saw how concerned Osborne was. A fellow who can conceal his own injuries in his anxiety for his pet is a pal worth having. He's some grit, has Osborne. Where's the dog?"
"In there," replied the Sub, indicating his private room.
The two men entered. Laddie was lying on a folded blanket, with his injured jaw supported by his paw.
"He does not seem in much pain," remarked Webb.
"No, it's too early. The nervous system of a dumb animal is somewhat different to ours. When mortification sets in—but we mustn't give that a chance," said Dixon. "I've had a dental training, you know, and that's why I think I'll be able to fix it up all right. The first job is to take an impression. Steady his head, will you?"
Gently but firmly Dixon pressed a lump of soft wax against the inside of Laddie's jaw. The dog submitted without protest. Instinctively he realized that what was being done was for his good.
"Ripping fine impression!" declared the operator, regarding the wax model with professional satisfaction. "That'll do for the present. I'll nip off to the work-room and make a plate."
Before long, Dixon returned with a vulcanite plate that exactly fitted the inside of the patient's jaw. Then the under side of the dog's mouth was encased in plaster of Paris, the whole being secured with india-rubber straps.
"That'll do," remarked the veterinary officer. "Feed him with beef-tea and arrowroot. I'll be round early to-morrow."
The grave report concerning Osborne which reached Webb that night urged the Sub to even greater efforts. He would willingly give up his rest in order to save Laddie, knowing that Osborne's life depended largely upon the success of the daring experiment.