"I don't mean to do anything myself, but this is a common enough kind of case around here to make me certain what the resident surgeon will do: he'll operate."
XVII
"A NET BY THE WAYSIDE"
Hermann Hoffmann, passing one evening to the little clothes-press behind the bar in Ludwig Schleger's saloon, and putting on the canvas coat that was his badge of office, heard the voice of the proprietor calling his name, and turned to see that stout German-American beckoning him to enter the back-room where, a month before, O'Malley had held with Wesley Dyker that conference which had proved so disastrous to Rose Légère.
He walked through the open door, whistling his Teutonic melody. He had not that fear of his employer which most employees have of the man for whom they work. Schleger had proved himself lenient and good-natured, and Hermann, whose cheerful round face and easy smile did not interfere with the use of a knotted arm and a mighty fist, was quite aware that there was no complaint justly to be made against the manner in which he performed his alloted tasks.
"Hoffmann," said Schleger, smiling, "you're all right."
"Sure," grinned Hermann.
"Yes," pursued the proprietor, "I been thinkin' about you that you sure have made good."
"I'm glad you vas sadisfied, Schleger."
"I am satisfied; but I think you need a little more time off now an' then. I haven't got nothin' to do this evenin'. I'll take your place."