"Now see, Y., you needn't worry; you've hurt your finger in
rowing, and the injury was deep and has set up a felon. It is not
yet headed up enough; as soon as it is I'll lance it, unless it
bursts of itself (and inwardly I prayed it might burst). Can you
get any linseed meal or bran?"
"Afraid not."
"Well, then, get some clean rags and keep the place covered with
them dipped in water as hot as you can stand it, and we'll head
it up in twenty-four hours; then in three days I'll have you in
good shape to travel." The last sentence, delivered with the calm
certainty of a man who knows all about it and never made a mistake,
did so much good to the patient that I caught a reflex of it myself.
He gave me his good hand and said with emotion: "You don't know
how much good you have done me. I don't mind being killed, but I
don't want to go through life a cripple."
"You say you haven't slept?" I asked.
"Not for three nights; I've suffered too much."
"Then take these pills. Go to bed at ten o'clock and take a pill;
if this does not put you to sleep, take another at 10.30. If you are
still awake at 11, take the third; then you will certainly sleep."
He went off almost cheerfully.
