surgical-lamp, had been brought near the bed. Murchison had taken off his coat, tied on an apron, and was soaking his hands in perchloride of mercury. Inglis had the chloroform mask over the farmer’s face. The man was weak with the anguish he had suffered, and took the an?sthetic without a struggle. Soon came the twitching of the limbs and the incoherent babbling as the vapor took effect. Murchison gave a rapid glance at the instrument table to see that everything he needed was to hand. Then he bared the farmer’s body, packed it round with towels, and began to scrub and cleanse the skin.
“He’s nearly under, sir.”
“Good.”
Murchison felt Baxter’s pulse, and frowned.
“We must waste no time,” he remarked,
“The pupil reflex has gone.”
“Keep him as lightly under as you can.”
There was the glimmer of a knife, and a long streaking of the skin with red. Murchison worked rapidly, spreading the lips of the wound with the fingers of his left hand while he plied the knife. The patient’s stertorous breathing seemed to fill the room. Murchison swabbed the wound briskly, and worked on with grim and quiet patience.
Soon half a dozen artery forceps were dangling about the wound. Murchison was bending over the farmer, insinuating his hand into the abdominal cavity. Inglis glanced at him with a worried air.
“Can you feel anything, sir with her, he would sanction everything at oncehe answered.?”
“Not yet.”
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