Duffey grunted, “One shake will do.” They went on to the seminary. The man whom Dan had helped into the corner, was still there. He had removed his boot and swaddled his foot in a jacket. He looked up, nodding and made a weak gesture with his hand.

“What have you got?” said the doctor. “It may be the gout.” The roar came around them like water. Duffey opened the sticky wrappings: he found the foot to be a grotesque tangle of loose skin, blood and pink-sheathed bones gleaming through. He mourned, “Oh, the metatarsus is wrecked. You’ll be a-losing this.”

The man whispered. “Thought so. Well, I don’t ’tend bar with my feet—least I can set on a chair to do it. Maybe you don’t know it, but I invented the first Apricot Bouquet that was ever drunk in Chicago … Do you want to cut it off, now?”

“Not here,” the doctor gulped. He was adept at strengthening human spirit when it was faint, but he had no words to greet his calm acceptance. He bound the damp mass in a clean bandage. “Find the sulphate of morphia,” he told Dan, “for I’ve got some in there. I’ll give you one-quarter grain now, boy, and have you got a watch? You’ll be needing more every second hour.”

He prepared the dose; his fingers were as steady as wooden levers; the little bottle became a part of him, and the wounded man could not take his eyes from it. “Will it stop the pain, sir?” Duffey nodded; yes, it would help. “For God’s sake—” the man bubbled …

“Easy. Easy. Here we are, lad.”

Then the soldier drank from the pail which Dan held for him. He settled back among the crushed poppies of the flower bed. He droned, “Come in to Patrick O’Carna’s Family Resort, if ever you’re in Chicago. You can have plenty of refreshment and never spend a copper.”

“Don’t invite me too reckless,” said the doctor. “I’m an old man now, but my name is still Duffey. I’ll see to you later, if that he-sow of a medical officer doesn’t get himself underfoot. Likely it’s his sort we read about in the papers, that feed the soldiers on calomel.” He stood up, fanning himself with the wretched silk hat. Sweat dripped from his thick eyebrows; he smelled of other sweat.

Bale said, “There’s a new noise coming out of the south. Hear it, Doc? If Elijah were here he’d say we were being flanked.” They started across the lawn; the doctor waddled behind; he had found his pink-and-white handkerchief, and he was using it on his face.