He doubtless realized that he was in the presence of
one of those men whose success in life, together with the possession of
grand-parents, causes them to regard themselves as endowed with the
combined wisdom of the law and the prophets. I am quite sure that he also
detected the big fund of common sense which lurks in the keen grey eyes
under Daddy's bushy eye-brows.
"You have my deepest sympathy, Mr. Jelliffe," he began. "I need hardly
point out the fact that I am the only doctor available. I am going to do
my very best for you. They have some very good men in St. John's, and we
may be able to get one of them to come down here, in a few days, to look
over my work. In the meanwhile your leg must be attended to so that no
further harm will be done. Let us have a look at it."
"I'll have to trust you," said Daddy, very soberly.
"Of course you will have to, Daddy," I put in. "You must be very good.
When you move your poor leg hurts you dreadfully, and the doctor will fix
it so that it won't be so painful."
I stood at the head of the bed and poor Daddy allowed me to stroke his
hand, a thing he usually resents. I know that he was in great pain and
feared other unknown tortures. The poor man looked at the tall doctor's
big hands as if he deemed them instruments of potential torture. One
really couldn't blame him for having scant confidence in a man whose
business appears to be the care of this poverty-stricken population.
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