“None but a beast would take from the stable a horse crippled like that,” he was saying.
The assistant was but a boy. Peter caught this before lasting damage was done. He left the place half crying, threatening to kill Mowbray later. His superior appeared. Peter smiled at him. Samarc was up, drawing on his clothes.
“A bit of bad judgment,” Peter said, not explaining whether it was his or the young doctor's.
The surgeon did not ask, but turned to the great muffled face.
“This man was from one of the rapid-fire commands, I believe?”
Peter was prevented from further glibness by a decisive nod from Samarc.
“The Fatherland will need you to-day,” the surgeon said with a peculiar significance.
To Peter's trained ear the sounds from Samarc were dangerously like, “Fatherland-hell.”
“A shrapnel splinter struck him in the mouth,” he explained. “He says he is ready to take the field.”
Samarc spoke again.