He was conscious that he himself had been breathing
shallowly as he watched, and now drew several deep inspirations
of relief.
"By George, that was the gamest thing I ever saw," thought Burns,
exultingly. "He hasn't shown the slightest sign of flinching. And Amy
Mathewson--she's played up to every move like a little second brain of
his."
He looked at the small clock on a shelf of the surgery, and his head
swam. "He's outdone himself," he nearly cried aloud. "This will stand
beside anything he's ever done. If he'd been slower than usual it would
have been only natural, after this interval, but he's been faster. Oh,
but I'm glad--glad!"
The event was over. Both Leaver and Burns, no longer under the necessity
of avoiding contact with things unsterilized, felt the small patient's
pulse and nodded at each other. The assistants bore Jamie Ferguson's
little inert body away, Miss Dodge attending.
Dr. Leaver turned to Miss Mathewson. He drew off the masking gauze from
his head, showing a flushed, moist face and eyes a little bloodshot. But
his voice was as quiet as ever as he said:
"I've never had finer assistance from any one, Miss Mathewson. If you had
been trained to work opposite me you couldn't have done better."
"You work much like Dr. Burns," she said, modestly. "That made it easy."
Burns burst into a smothered laugh.
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