"There wasn't any hurry, sir. I didn't want to bother you—"
"It's my business to come when I'm called, isn't it? I'm here to doctor the lot of you, aren't I? You do as you're told."
With that Scott plumped down on the stool, and took the hand in his own. His touch was exquisitely gentle. Gardiner rather wished he had grabbed at him like Warder Barnes; but he stood submissive, and submissively answered questions. "Yes, sir, I got it rather badly crushed last summer. Yes, it did take a time to heal. No, I don't know that I felt anything particular until this began—that was about ten days ago."
"Hurt, eh?" asked Scott, with a swift glance up from his dressing.
"A little," Gardiner admitted.
"Suppuration of the palm is the very—" said Scott. "Don't you try to humbug me. I know. Damaged the bone, that's what you've done, and you aren't by any means out of the wood yet. That'll do for to-night. Now let's have a look at you. Your general health can't be up to much, or you wouldn't have a mess-up like this. Any special symptoms to complain of?"
"I've been rather off my sleep lately."
"You'd need cast-iron nerves to be on it, with your hand in that state. How long has it been going on—the insomnia, I mean?"
"Oh, three weeks or so. Since the warm weather set in."
"Before your hand was bad, eh?"