Part 10 (1/2)

”I see differently now, Marcel.”

The surgeon put a hand playfully on his brother's shoulder.

”Did you think, my dear Prosper, that I should hesitate? Am I a sentimentalist? But what will he say?

”We need not think of that, Marcel.”

”But yet suppose that with memory come again sin and shame--even crime?”

”We will pray for him.”

”But if he isn't a Catholic?”

”One must pray for sinners,” said the Curb, after a silence.

This time the surgeon laid a hand on the shoulder of his brother affectionately. ”Upon my soul, dear Prosper, you almost persuade me to be reactionary and mediaeval.”

The Curb turned half uneasily towards Jo, who was following at a little distance. This seemed hardly the sort of thing for him to hear.

”You had better return now, Jo,” he said.

”As you wish, M'sieu',” Jo answered, then looked inquiringly at the surgeon.

”In about five days, Portugais. Have you a steady hand and a quick eye?”

Jo spread out his hands in deprecation, and turned to the Curb, as though for him to answer.

”Jo is something of a physician and surgeon too, Marcel. He has a gift.

He has cured many in the parish with his herbs and tinctures, and he has set legs and arms successfully.”

The surgeon eyed Jo humorously, but kindly. ”He is probably as good a doctor as some of us. Medicine is a gift, surgery is a gift and an art.

You shall hear from me, Portugais.” He looked again keenly at Jo. ”You have not given him 'herbs and tinctures'?”

”Nothing, M'sieu'.”

”Very sensible. Good-day, Portugais.”

”Good-day, my son,” said the priest, and raised his fingers in benediction, as Jo turned and quickly retraced his steps.

”Why did you ask him if he had given the poor man any herbs or tinctures, Marcel?” said the priest.

”Because those quack tinctures have whiskey in them.”

”What do you mean?”

”Whiskey in any form would be bad for him,” the surgeon answered evasively.

But to himself he kept saying: ”The man was a drunkard--he was a drunkard.”

CHAPTER XI. THE RAISING OF THE CURTAIN