“No, no, I’m all right,” Charles was saying. Knocked me silly for a moment, I guess.”
Then Edward saw him; supported by Isham, he was holding a bloody handkerchief to his nose; his face was pale and bloody. Sheldon was kneeling beside him, and with his own handkerchief was trying to help in staunching the flow of blood.
Dr. Vincent put the handkerchiefs down from the boy’s face. Edward had for a moment a sensation of faintness, of horror; would Charles, his handsome brother, be disfigured for life? His nose was battered over to one side and was already thick and swollen. The doctor bathed his face from the pail of water that some one had brought, and then felt and pressed the injured nose.
“Hurt?” he said.
“Oh, some,” replied Charles.
“It’s broken; well, there’s not much that can be done for it just now.—One moment.”
Charles bore without wincing the treatment to which he was subjected. When it was over,
