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I am dreadfully disappointed."
By this time I had unwound the voluminous wrappings and exposed the
injury--a deep gash in the palm that must have narrowly missed a
good-sized artery. Obviously the hand would be useless for fully a week.
"I suppose," she said, "you couldn't patch it up so that I could write
with it?"
I shook my head.
"No, Miss Bellingham. I shall have to put it on a splint. We can't run
any risks with a deep wound like this."
"Then I shall have to give up the commission, and I don't know how my
client will get the work done in the time. You see, I am pretty well up
in the literature of Ancient Egypt; in fact, I was to receive special
payment on that account. And it would have been such an interesting
task, too. However, it can't be helped."
I proceeded methodically with the application of the dressings, and
meanwhile reflected. It was evident that she was deeply disappointed.
Loss of work meant loss of money, and it needed but a glance at her
rusty black dress to see that there was little margin for that.


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