"Keep up that pressure just as you were doing, please, Miss Charlotte,
while I make things ready. We'll have you all right in a jiffy, Birch."
Two minutes later the doctor had Lanse stretched on a narrow white table
in an inner office. "I've got to hurt you quite a bit," he said to his
patient. "I don't want to give you an anesthetic, but somebody must hold
your head. Shall I call Mrs. Fields?"
He glanced at Charlotte, and met what he had counted on--her help. "No,
I can manage," she said quietly.
The doctor was soon ready, with arms, surgically clean, bared to the
elbows.
It was rather a bad ten minutes for Lanse that followed, although he
bore it bravely, without a sound. The strong, steady support of his
sister's hands on the sides of his head never varied, and her eyes
watched the doctor's rapid movements with absorbed attention. Doctor
Churchill glanced at her two or three times, but met only quiet resolve
in her face, which, although pale, showed no sign of weakness.
The injury was a severe one, being no clean cut, but a jagged gash
several inches in length, caused by a heavy blow with a rough tool.
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