“You would rather have him dead, eh? All right, if that suits you better it makes no difference to me,” said the doctor gruffly, picking up his bag. “Good-by.”
“Doctor, you will come back again to-morrow?”
“To-morrow? Why should I come back to-morrow? I can do no more—unless you agree to amputation. There is no use coming back to-morrow. I have other cases waiting on me. I can't give all my time to this Indian.” The contempt in the doctor's voice for a mere Indian stung her like a whip. On Mandy's cheek, pale with her long vigil, a red flush appeared and in her eye a light that would have warned the doctor had he known her better.
“Is not this Indian a human being?” she asked quietly.
But the doctor was very impatient and anxious to be gone.
“A human being? Yes, of course, a human being, but there are human beings and human beings. But if you mean an Indian is as good as a white man, frankly I don't agree with you.”
“You have given a great deal of your time, doctor,” said Mandy with quiet deliberation, “and I am most grateful. I can ask no more for THIS INDIAN. I only regret that I have been forced to ask so much of your time. Good-by.” There was a ring as of steel in her voice. The doctor became at once apologetic.
“What—eh?—I beg your pardon,” he stammered.
“It is not at all necessary. Thank you again for all your service. Good-by.”
“Eh? I don't quite—”