morning, and on inquiring at Paddington as to where I might find a
doctor, a worthy fellow very kindly escorted me here. I gave the maid a
card, but I see that she has left it upon the side-table.
I took it up and glanced at it. Mr. Victor Hatherley, hydraulic
engineer, 16A, Victoria Street (3rd floor). That was the name, style,
and abode of my morning visitor. I regret that I have kept you
waiting, said I, sitting down in my library-chair. You are fresh from
a night journey, I understand, which is in itself a monotonous
occupation.
Oh, my night could not be called monotonous, said he, and laughed. He
laughed very heartily, with a high, ringing note, leaning back in his
chair and shaking his sides. All my medical instincts rose up against
that laugh.
Stop it! I cried; pull yourself together! and I poured out some
water from a caraffe.
It was useless, however. He was off in one of those hysterical
outbursts which come upon a strong nature when some great crisis is
over and gone. Presently he came to himself once more, very weary and
pale-looking.
I have been making a fool of myself, he gasped.
Not at all. Drink this. I dashed some brandy into the water, and the
colour began to come back to his bloodless cheeks.
That s better! said he. And now, Doctor, perhaps you would kindly
attend to my thumb, or rather to the place where my thumb used to be.
He unwound the handkerchief and held out his hand. It gave even my
hardened nerves a shudder to look at it. There were four protruding
fingers and a horrid red, spongy surface where the thumb should have
been. It had been hacked or torn right out from the roots.
Good heavens! I cried, this is a terrible injury. It must have bled
considerably.
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