He led the way rapidly back up to the house, in at the door and up the stairs.  At the end of a long corridor he threw open the door of a small room, whose whole northern side was of glass.  Its equipment was as complete as could be asked by the most exacting of operating surgeons.

“Good!” Leaver cried, quite forgetting himself for the moment.  “I had no idea you meant to carry things so far as this.  Fine!”

“Isn’t it?  Could you have a better place to try your hand again?  Nobody looking on but Amy Mathewson, Miss Dodge—­whom you met downstairs—­and Dr. Buller—­for the anesthetic.  Buller’s the best anesthetizer in the state and a splendid fellow besides.  Also my humble self, ready to be your right-hand man.  I promise you this,—­if the least thing goes wrong—­and you ask it—­I’ll take your place without a word.  Jack, the case is one that needs you.  I’ve never done this operation:  you have.  You’ve written a monograph on it.  It’s up to you, John Leaver.  I don’t dare you to do it, I dare you not to do it!”

For the first time, in response to his arguments on this subject, Burns got no answer but silence.  But his friend’s face was slowly flushing a deep, angry red.  At this sight Burns rejoiced.  His theory had been that if he could wake something in Leaver besides deep depression and sad negation he had a chance to influence him.  He believed thoroughly that if he could force the distinguished young surgeon through one successful operation confidence would return like an incoming tide.  He had hoped that the pathetic sight of the little malformed body of Jamie Ferguson would arouse the passion for salvage which lies in the breast of every man who practises the great profession; he saw that thus far his plan had succeeded.  Now to accomplish the rest.

“Suppose,” said Leaver, turning slowly toward the other man, “I agree to stand beside you and direct the operation?”

It was Burns’s turn to colour angrily, his quick temper leaping to fire in an instant.

“Not much!  Let every tub stand on its own bottom!  Either I do the job or I don’t do it; but I don’t take the part of an apprentice.  I’ll agree to play second fiddle to you, with you playing first.  But I’ll be—­condemned—­if I’ll play first, with a coach at my elbow.  Take that and be hanged to you!”

He walked over to the open window, threw back the screen and put his head out, as if he needed air to breathe.  Leaver was at his side in an instant.

“I beg your pardon, my dear fellow, I do sincerely.  It was an unworthy suggestion, and I don’t blame you for resenting it.  Nobody needs help less than you.  You could do the operation brilliantly.  That’s why there’s no need in the world to force me into the situation—­no need—­”

Burns wheeled.  “There is need!  There’s need for you—­to save your soul alive.  You’ve been no coward so far—­your overworked nerves played you a trick and you’ve had to recover.  But you have recovered, you are fit to work again. If you don’t do this thing you’ll be a coward forever!”