The dressers were rough but warm-hearted, and some had difficulty in restraining tears that were undresser-like and derogatory to their authority.
The house surgeon had long ago got over that nonsense. He was there in the interests of science. Sympathy was for women and clergymen. What had he to do with a patient's calling and his home concerns? He walked up and down the receiving room with his hands in his pockets, musing thus: "Conservative surgery is all very well, but it isn't brilliant. When a fellow has taken off a dozen or two lower extremities, he can afford to be conservative; but if I let this go, I may complete my term of office without another chance of doing anything half so good. That conceited ass Gayworth, is crowing over me already. He did a better hernia than I ever had the chance to do; but I shall beat him if I get this. Perhaps I could save the poor devil's leg--at any rate, Laxton thinks so; but, hang it, what's a fellow to do? I go off next week, and I shall never have anything like this again! Here comes the priest; he will bring him to reason."
Cheery, bustling, kindly Father O'Grady runs up the hospital steps, and is met in the entrance hall by our ardent young operator. "Sorry to bother you, father, but one of your people here who has a compound fracture of the thigh refuses to undergo the necessary operation to save his life."
"Won't have his leg off, I suppose?" said the priest.
"Decidedly, and I wouldn't answer for his living the week out if it isn't done at once."
And the surgeon looked as dogmatic and authoritative as though he were the President of the College of Surgeons himself. The good priest looked at this youth, only just turned twenty-two, and wondered, if he were older and wiser, with the knowledge that comes not from books and lectures, but from experience and meditation, the true correctives for so many medical theories--wondered if he would be as positive as he was now.
"You are sure you couldn't save his leg anyhow?"
It was not for the good clergyman to argue the case, so he went to the couch on which lay the crushed form of his suffering countryman and co-religionist, bent over him and whispered loving words in his ear, and commanded him in the name of the Church to submit to lose his limb that his life might be saved, as the doctors desired.