"The left shoulder blade. Hum! Much laceration—scraped to the bone. Hum! Fine physique. An athlete, this fellow, though he won't weigh a hundred and twenty pounds. Hum! We must save this torn cuticle if we can. If we must graft—hum!—well, we must."
He had removed the ambulance surgeon's bandages. Those over the left shoulder and the bandage about the victim's head seemed to indicate all the injuries the young man had suffered. Yet Doctor Herschall was thorough in his examination. His attention to detail in even the least important case was characteristic of the man. He possessed the exact German mind, as well as the Prussian bearing and look.
"Fever—fever," he repeated. "Much fever. And not entirely induced by these wounds. He has only just now been brought in from Van Cortlandt Park and, the interne tells me, could not have been long injured when he was found beside his fallen machine."
Doctor Herschall had this habit of talking while at work—even after adjusting his mask. At first, when Belinda chanced to assist him, he had addressed his remarks directly to her. She never replied if she could help it; therefore of late he merely carried on a monologue of comment as though he were addressing a class in the operating auditorium. His final words on this occasion startled the nurse into speaking.
"A flying machine, Doctor? Did he fall?"
"He came down, at least," growled Doctor Herschall. "Ach, these American airmen are mere amateurs! No training. Everything is haphazard in this country. Anybody reckless and bold enough is allowed to ascend in an aeroplane. Not like European methods—especially our own army methods. In Germany a man must be trained for his work ere he is allowed to pilot even a taube."
The deft-handed nurse made no further comment, feeling that she had already been unwise in opening the way for his direct address. Doctor Herschall went skilfully about his work; nor did the nurse fail in the least of her duties. A murmured word—even a gesture—brought the required instrument, or whatever was needed. She watched the doctor closely, rather than looked at the raw wound he was at work upon. She had never got over that first feeling of creeping horror that clutched her when she beheld a gory wound. Yet she possessed such splendid control that few suspected Belinda Melnotte even owned nerves. She approached almost every operation with reluctance and aversion. Abundant physical health and perfect mental poise enabled her to hide her real feelings.
The shoulder was dressed. The cut upon the head just at the roots of the hair, where the scar might easily be hidden, was superficial. The head bandage being removed, the nurse gained a better view of the airman's countenance.
There was a roach of reddish, sandy hair over the broad brow; but the eyebrows and lashes were dark enough to lend to his features a certain dignity. These features were sharp rather than noble of outline; yet he possessed a good mouth and a firm chin. The twenty-four hours' growth of beard gave unmistakable reason for his being dubbed "Sandy" by his friends and admirers.
Belinda thought him a particularly interesting-looking young man. It was seldom that she so quickly felt concern in the personality of a patient.