“Aw dear, aw dear, my poor booy,” exclaimed the woman, endeavouring gently to press the boy down again on the stool, amid furious roaring.
“What’s wrong with him?” asked our traveller, entering the apartment.
“He’s tumbled off the wall, dear booy, an’ semen to me he’s scat un shoulder very bad.”
“Let me have a look at him,” said the youth, sitting down on the edge of a bed which stood at one end of the room, and drawing the child between his knees. “Come, little man, don’t shout so loud; I’ll put it all right for you. Let me feel your shoulder.”
To judge from the immediate result, the young man seemed to put it all wrong instead of “all right,” for his somewhat rough manipulation of the boy’s shoulder produced such a torrent of screams that the pitying woman had much ado to restrain herself from rushing to the rescue.
“Ah!” exclaimed the youth in grey, releasing his victim; “I thought so; he has broken his collar-bone, my good woman; not a serious matter, by any means, but it will worry him for some time to come. Have you got anything to make a bandage of?”
“Sur?” said the woman.
“Have you a bit of rag—an old shirt or apron?—anything will do.”
The woman promptly produced a cotton shirt, which the youth tore up into long strips. Making a pad of one of these, he placed it under the boy’s arm-pit despite of sobs and resistance. This pad acted as a fulcrum on which the arm rested as a lever. Pressing the elbow close to the boy’s side he thus forced the shoulder outwards, and, with his left hand, set the bone with its two broken ends together. To secure it in this position he bound the arm pretty firmly to the boy’s body, so that he could not move a muscle of the left arm or shoulder.
“There,” said the youth, assisting his patient to put on his shirt, “that will keep all straight. You must not on any account remove the bandage for some weeks.”