"
"Is the man who says it a good surgeon, one upon whom a fellow can rely,
one of the very best surgeons that ever worked on a hurt head?"
"Yes, Mr. Scott. But why do you ask such a question? Is it your odd
American way?"
"Not at all. Mademoiselle Julie. I merely wanted to satisfy myself. He
knows that I'm not likely to be insane or weak-minded or anything of the
kind, because I got in the way of that horse's knee?"
"Oh, no, Mr. Scott, there is not the least danger in the world. Your
mind will be as sound as your body. Don't trouble yourself."
She laughed and now John knew that it was she whom he had heard singing
the chansonette in that low murmuring tone. What was that little song?
Well, it did not matter about the words. The music was that of a soft
breeze from the south blowing among roses. John's imaginings were
growing poetical. Perhaps there were yet some lingering effects from the
concussion.
"Here is the surgeon now," said Mademoiselle Julie. "He will take a look
at you and he will be glad to find that what he has predicted has come
true."
It was the man in the white jacket, and with that wonderful tangle of
black whiskers, like a patch cut out of a scrub forest.
"Well, my young Yankee," he said, "I see that you've come around. You've
raised an interesting question in my mind. Since a cavalry horse wasn't
able to break it, is the American skull thicker than the skulls of other
people?"
"A lot of you Europeans don't seem to think we're civilized.
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