I nodded.
"Quite so. But he keeps his temper and everything else he gets. You give yourself and all you've got, away. I like a fool, too. But why bring a false charge of cowardice?"
I took the thermometer out of my mouth to say I withdrew the charge. He clapped it back again and told me to shut up.
"Do you think," he asked, "that it's your solemn duty as a buck policeman to interfere between your superior officer—and the devil?"
I shook my head.
"And why wear moccasins when you kick an officer? Need boots."
My toes were still hurting.
"Mr. Sarde was hurt," said the doctor. "I should feel hurt if you kicked me. That's only natural. I'd shoot you, too, or operate—which is much the same thing. You see, my dear boy, even the commissioner might object to having his troopers kicking his officers, and his officers shooting his troopers when both should be shooting rebels. If he finds out, he'll kick Mr. Sarde out of the force, and have you shot for mutiny. Serve you both dam' well right.
"I don't mind that at all, but what if these bally civilians get to know too much? Scandals in our outfit—there's the rub. Scandals in our outfit! Won't do. The civvies will get too happy. It isn't good for 'em. They oughtn't to be encouraged. Just look at them, screeching with fright, as if there were no hereafter. Did you ever see such a howling disgrace to the whites!"
"Let's see," he whipped the thermometer out of my mouth, "I guess you've been pinked by a rebel sniper, eh?"