The young doctor seemed to disapprove highly of these efforts, and to wish to change the conversation. "Let it alone now," said
he. "Only for a little. Would you kindly allow me to see your arm again?"
"Let him drink his tea first." This is from Miss Sally, the tea-priestess. "Another cup?" But no; he won't take another cup, thanks.
"Now let's have the coat off, and get another look at the arm; never mind apologizing." But the patient had not contemplated apology. It was the stiffness made him slow. However, he got his coat off, and drew the blue shirt off his left arm. He had a fine hand and arm, but the hand hung inanimate, and the fingers looked scorched. Dr. Vereker began feeling the arm at intervals all the way up, and asking each time questions about the degree of sensibility.
"I couldn't say whether it's normal or not up there." So the patient testified. And Mrs. Nightingale, who was watching the examination intently, suggested trying the other arm in the same place for comparison.
"You didn't see the other arm at the station, doctor?" she said.
"Didn't I?"
"I was asking."
"Well, no. Now I come to think of it, I don't think I did. We'll have a look now, anyhow."
"You're a nice doctor!" This is from Miss Sally; a little confidential fling at the profession. She is no respecter of persons. Her mother would, no doubt, check her—a pert little monkey!—only she is absorbed in the examination.