ly nippy in
jumping out of the way, it seems, and as the old banjo's busted for
good, I shall have to trouble you for a funeral march on the
accordion, Skipper."

"Funeral be hanged!" said Kettle. "You're worth a whole cemetery full of
dead men yet."

"Speaking as a doctor," said Clay cheerfully, "I may tell you that your
unprofessional opinion is rot. Now, if I'd a brother sawbones here to
perform amputation, I might have a chance--say, one in a thousand."

"Your leg ought to be cut off?"

"Just there, above the knee. That'll mortify in twenty hours from now.
Thank the Lord I never wasted much morphia on the niggers. There's
plenty in stock. So it won't worry me much."

"Look here," said Kettle, "I will cut that leg off for you."

"You! My good Skipper, you're a handy man, I know, but what the blazes
do you know about amputation?"

"You've got to teach me. You can show me the tools to use, and draw
diagrams of where the arteries come."

"By the powers, I've a great mind to. There's something pretty rich in
giving an amputation lecture with one's own femorals as a subject."

"You'd better," said Kettle grimly, "or I shall cut it off without being
taught. I like you a lot too well, my man, to let you die for want of a
bit of help."

And so, principally because the grotesqueness of the situation appealed
to his whimsical sense of humor, Clay forthwith proceeded to pose as an
anatomy demonstrator addressing a class, and expounded the whole art of
amputation, handling the utensils of the surgeon's craft with the gusto
of an expert, and never by shudder or sigh showing a trace of the white
feather. He carried the whole thing through with a genial gayety,
pointing his sentences now with a quip, now with some roguish sparkle of
profanity, and finally he announced that the lecture was complete and
over, and then he nodded familiarly at his wounded limb.

"By-bye, old hoof!" he said. "You've helped carry the rest of me into
some queer scrapes, one time and another. But we've had good times
together, as well as bad, you and I, and anyway, I'm sorry to lose you.
And now, skipper," said he, "get off your coat and wade in. I've put on
the Esmarch's bandage for you. Don't be niggardly with the
chloroform--I've got a good heart. And remember to do what I told you
about that femoral artery, and don't make a mistake there, or else
there'll be a mess on the floor. Shake hands, old man, and good luck to
your surgery; and any