He unwound the bandage and showed a hand and arm swollen out of all
shape, twice the natural size, and of a singular dropsical pallor.
"Have you any pain?"
"I can't sleep from the torture of it."
"Where does it hurt now?"
"In the hand."
"How did you get it?"
"It seemed to come on after a hard crossing of Lake Athabaska. We
had to row all night."
I asked one or two more questions, really to hide my puzzlement.
"What in the world is it?" I said to myself; "all so fat and puffy."
I cudgelled my brain for a clue. As I examined the hand in silence
to play for time and conceal my ignorance, he went on:
"What I'm afraid of is blood-poisoning. I couldn't get out to a
doctor before a month, and by that time I'll be one-armed or dead.
I know which I'd prefer."
Knowing, at all events, that nothing but evil could come of fear,
I said: "Now see here. You can put that clean out of your mind.
You never saw blood-poisoning that colour, did you?"
"That's so," and he seemed intensely relieved.
While I was thus keeping up an air of omniscience by saying nothing,
Major Jarvis came up.
"Look at this, Jarvis," said I; "isn't it a bad one?
"Phew," said the Major, "that's the worst felon I ever saw."
Like a gleam from heaven came the word felon.
