A change in the hospital staff brought all of us to grief.The new surgeon was a quiet, gentlemanly person, with pleasant blue eyes and clearly cut features, and a way of looking at you without saying much.I felt so safe myself that I watched his procedures with just that kind of enjoyment which one clever man takes in seeing another at work.
The first inspection settled two of us.
``Another back case,'' said the assistant surgeon to his senior.
``Back hurt you?'' says the latter, mildly.
``Yes, sir; run over by a howitzer; ain't never been able to stand straight since.''
``A howitzer!'' says the surgeon.``Lean forward, my man, so as to touch the floor--so.That will do.'' Then turning to his aid, he said, ``Prepare this man's discharge papers.''
``His discharge, sir?''
``Yes; I said that.Who's next?''
``Thank you, sir,'' groaned the man with the back.``How soon, sir, do you think it will be?''
``Ah, not less than a month,'' replied the surgeon, and passed on.
Now, as it was unpleasant to be bent like the letter C, and as the patient presumed that his discharge was secure, he naturally allowed himself a little relaxation in the way of becoming straighter.Unluckily, those nice blue eyes were everywhere at all hours, and one fine morning Smithson was appalled at finding himself in a detachment bound for the field, and bearing on his descriptive list an ill-natured indorsement about his malady.
The surgeon came next on O'Callahan, standing, like each of us, at the foot of his own bed.
``I've paralytics in my arm,'' he said, with intention to explain his failure to salute his superior.
``Humph!'' said the surgeon; ``you have another hand.''
``An' it's not the rigulation to saloot with yer left,'' said the Irishman, with a grin, while the patients around us began to smile.
``How did it happen?'' said the surgeon.
``I was shot in the shoulder,'' answered the patient, ``about three months ago, sir.Ihaven't stirred it since.''
The surgeon looked at the scar.
``So recently?'' said he.``The scar looks older; and, by the way, doctor,''--to his junior,--``it could not have gone near the nerves.Bring the battery, orderly.''
In a few moments the surgeon was testing one after another, the various muscles.At last he stopped.``Send this man away with the next detachment.Not a word, my man.
You are a rascal, and a disgrace to honest men who have been among bullets.''
The man muttered something, I did not hear what.
``Put this man in the guard-house,'' cried the surgeon, and so passed on without smile or frown.
As to the ulcer case, to my amusement he was put in bed, and his leg locked up in a wooden splint, which effectually prevented him from touching the part diseased.It healed in ten days, and he too went as food for powder.
The surgeon asked me a few questions, and requesting to be sent for during my next fit, left me alone.
I was, of course, on my guard, and took care to have my attacks only during his absence, or to have them over before he arrived.
At length, one morning, in spite of my care, he chanced to enter the ward as I fell on the floor.I was laid on the bed, apparently in strong convulsions.Presently I felt a finger on my eyelid, and as it was raised, saw the surgeon standing beside me.To escape his scrutiny I became more violent in my motions.He stopped a moment and looked at me steadily.``Poor fellow!'' said he, to my great relief, as I felt at once that I had successfully deceived him.Then he turned to the ward doctor and remarked: ``Take care he does not hurt his head against the bed;and, by the by, doctor, do you remember the test we applied in Carstairs's case? Just tickle the soles of his feet and see if it will cause those backward spasms of the head.''