Now the frightened little fat man grasped Murphy by a leg and almost pulled him to the floor. He babbled incoherently. Murphy tugged at him a moment, then tossed him back into his corner in disgust and started to withdraw. His eyes fell on the still form of “Black George.” He stooped over him, raised his eyelids, let them fall, and with an oath of disgust quit the cabin for the main salon, slamming the door behind him.
Dispiritedly, he slumped against the table.
“Master down an’ out wit’ drugs,” he said. “That’s what comes av association’ wit’ these Chinee people. You get to be a dopefiend. An’ doctor so scared he’s av no use. Uh.”
“Look here, Mr. Murphy,” he said. “If your arm’s hurt, let us examine it. Bob here is a pretty good hand at rough surgical work. He took a course in first-aid, so he could help out in football accidents at school.”
“That so? Well, have a luk, lad. Here”—addressing Frank—“ye’ll find bandages an’ splints an’ iodine in that cabinet in my cabin. Go an’ git ’em. An’ bring me that bottle o’ licker ye’ll find there, too. I nade somethin’ to put sperrit in me this night.”
One long pull he took at the bottle of liquor, then ordered Frank to take it away, after Mr. Temple had declined his offer of a drink.
“One’s enough,” he said. “I’ve got work to do an’ must kape my head. Now lad”—extending his arm and addressing Bob—“go ahead.”
Murphy was without a coat, and Bob’s first move was to cut away the left sleeve of his flannel shirt. Deftly Bob worked, aided now and then by his companions, while Murphy sat without a groan throughout the whole operation. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead. At the end, however, his arm was neatly and stoutly bound in splints and lashed across his chest.
“That’s wan I owe you, boys,” he said, when the operation was completed. “Matt Murphy don’t forgit. Now I’ll be on me way to the bridge, or that Chinee at the wheel will be droppin’ away from the wind an’ there’ll be the Divil to pay.”
As he rose to his feet and started for the door, Frank intervened.
“Won’t you let me come up to have a look around, Mr. Murphy?” he begged.
“I will not,” said Matt Murphy, violently. “Don’t ye know why I kept ye below all day? ’Tis because the Chinees have it in for ye for half-killin’ Wong Ho. There’s only two I kin trust an’ them’s the wans as cooks for ye an’ serves the food. Stay where ye are an’ be safe.”