Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Social classes -- England -- Fiction
"Means that if the limb hadn't been taken off on the nail, septic
poisoning might have set in--yes!--already!--By the merest chance
Brantock was here when he was brought in--he's our visiting
surgeon, you know--and he operated immediately.... Save it? Not a
chance--arteries all torn--circulation stopped--nothing for it but
the knife! The other leg we may save. He has a splendid constitution.
Couldn't have kept him so long under chloroform else."
"The other leg?"
"Compound comminuted fracture of tibia and fibula, with extensive
laceration of soft parts. Much extravasation. But vitality retained. Oh
yes!--we may save that one. It's in plaster of Paris. He was removed
into the surgical ward an hour ago. Do you want to see him?--he can't
talk, I fancy, and he'd better not try. He's had a good deal of opium
to allay pain, you see."
"_May_ I see him? I should like to say I have to his little girl.
Poor child! The _delirium tremens_ case was her uncle, and she has no
mother. She's the poor chap's only child."
The House Surgeon put a book he had been looking into as he talked,
inside a desk and locked it; wrote with extreme rapidity on half a
sheet of note-paper as people write on the stage; handed it to a chubby
nurse who seemed to have been indulging optimism while waiting for it;
remarked to her, "That's three hundred and forty-nine. I'll see about
the other presently;" and said to the Rev. Athelstan, briefly, "Come
along!"
* * * * *
Poor Jim was worse now, as far as his own feelings went, than when he
spoke to Lizarann off of the hospital-barrer. _Then_ he was, in his own
eyes, a chap that had been knocked over and come by some damage to his
legs, which a week in hospital would set right. Pain enough!--ah, to
be sure!--and what might you expect? Not for to lie up in cotton-wool
all the days of your life. As a Spartan, and as against pain, with the
normal courage of his healthy hours upon him, Jim was matchless. Add
to that, that when he said those few words to his little lass, all
the pain was as nothing in itself, measured against the need that she
should not know it.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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