“Beg to differ, sir.”
“When did you dress this last?”
The patient hesitated, eying Murchison sulkily as though tempted to be insolent.
“Yesterday.”
“Speak the truth and say three days ago. You’re on your ‘club’—of course.”
“Well, what’s the harm?”
“And you don’t trouble much how long you draw club-money, eh?”
“That’s your business, I reckon.”
“My business, is it? Well, my friend, you carry out my instructions or there will be trouble about the certificate. You understand?”
The man cast an evil look at Murchison’s broad back as he turned to spread boracic ointment on clean lint.