“Jamie seems in the best of condition,” said she.

“That’s good—­that’s good,” Burns answered, as if he had not made sure of the fact for himself within the hour.

“I will go in and see him a minute,” Leaver said, and disappeared into Jamie Ferguson’s room.

Outside Burns walked up and down the corridor, waiting, in a restlessness upon which he suddenly laid a stern decree.  He stopped short and forced himself to stand still.

“You idiot,” he savagely addressed himself, “you act like a fool medical student detailed to give an anesthetic at a noted surgeon’s clinic for the first time.  Cut it, and behave yourself.”

After which he was guilty of no more outward perturbation, and, naturally, of somewhat less inner turmoil.

“Satisfied?” he asked of Leaver, as the other came out of Jamie’s room.

Leaver nodded.  “Rather better than I had hoped.  He’s a plucky little chap.”

“You’re right, he is.”

The two went up to the dressing-room.  Half an hour later, clad in white from head to foot, arms bare and gleaming, hands gloved, allowing assistants to open and close doors for them lest the slightest contamination affect their rigid cleanliness, they came into the operating-room.  For the moment they were left alone there, while the nurses went to summon the bearer of the little patient.  It was the moment Burns had dreaded, the stillness before action which most tries the spirit at any crisis.

He could not help giving one quick glance at his friend before he turned away to look out of the window with eyes which saw nothing outside it.  In that instant’s glance he thought the old Leaver stood before him, cool, collected, armed to the teeth, as it were, for the fight, and looking forward to it with eagerness.  There had been possibly a slight pallor upon his face, as Miss Dodge had adjusted his mask of gauze, but, as Burns recalled it, this was a common matter with many surgeons, and it might easily have been characteristic of Leaver himself, even though Burns had not remembered it.  His own heart was thumping heavily in his breast, as it had never thumped when he had been the chief actor in the coming scene.

“Lord, make him go through all right,” he was praying, almost unconsciously, while he eyed the September landscape unseeingly, and listened for the sound of the stretcher bearers....

As they came in at the door Burns turned, and saw, or thought he saw, Leaver draw one deep, long breath.  Then, in a minute or so, the fight was on.  He remembered, of old, that there was never much delay after the distinguished surgeon saw his patient before him, had assured himself that all was well with the working of the anesthetic, and had taken up his first instrument....