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.
Possibly, too, there was some special need to be met. Her manner seemed
almost to imply that there was. And at this point I had a brilliant
idea.

"I'm not sure that it can't be helped," said I.

She looked at me inquiringly, and I continued: "I am going to make a
proposition, and I shall ask you to consider it with an open mind."

"That sounds rather portentous," said she; "but I promise. What is it?"