“I’ll stand by,” said he. “I won’t operate. I’m afraid of one like this. It’s your job, drunk or sober.”
“Removing a tumor from a woman, ain’t you?” said Coker.
“No,” said Dick Ravenel, “removing a woman from a tumor.”
“Bet you it weighs fifty pounds, if it weighs an ounce,” said McGuire with sudden professional interest.
Dick Ravenel winced ever so slightly. A cool spurt of young wind, clean as a kid, flowed by him. McGuire’s meaty shoulders recoiled burlily as if from the cold shock of water. He seemed to waken.
“I’d like a bath,” he said to Dick Ravenel, “and a shave.” He rubbed his hand across his blotched hairy face.
“You can use my room, Hugh, at the hotel,” said Jeff Spaugh, looking at Ravenel somewhat eagerly.
“I’ll use the hospital,” he said.
“You’ll just have time,” said Ravenel.
“In God’s name, let’s get a start on,” he cried impatiently.
“Did you see Kelly do this one at Hopkins?” asked McGuire.
“Yes,” said Dick Ravenel, “after a very long prayer. That’s to give power to his elbow. The patient died.”
“Damn the prayers!” said McGuire. “They won’t do much good to this one. She called me a low-down lickered-up whisky-drinking bastard last night: if she still feels like that she’ll get well.”
“These mountain women take a lot of killing,” said Jeff Spaugh sagely.
“Do you want to come along?” McGuire asked Coker.
“No, thanks. I’m getting some sleep,” he answered. “The old girl took a hell of a time. I thought she’d never get through dying.”
They started to go.
“Ben,” said McGuire, with a return to his former manner, “tell the Old Man I’ll beat hell out of him if he doesn’t give Helen a rest. Is he staying sober?”
“In heaven’s name, McGuire, how should I know?” Ben burst out irritably. “Do you think that’s all I’ve got to do—watching your licker-heads?”
“That’s a great girl, boy,” said McGuire sentimentally. “One in a million.”
