At all events, he made no reply,
but began to run the strip of zinc through the machine. He did it
awkwardly--and with bad results.
"Here!" he shouted. "This is the way. Watch how I do it. There's
nothin' to it, if you put your mind on it." By his own showing then
his mind was not upon it. He continued to talk. "All you got to look
out for is to keep it pressed over to--"
"Don't run your hand up with it," Bibbs vociferated, leaning toward
him.
"Run nothin'! You GOT to--"
"Look out!" shouted Bibbs and Gurney together, and they both sprang
forward. But Sheridan's right hand had followed the strip too far,
and the zinc-eater had bitten off the tips of the first and second
fingers. He swore vehemently, and wrung his hand, sending a shower
of red drops over himself and Bibbs, but Gurney grasped his wrist,
and said, sharply:
"Come out of here. Come over to the lavatory in the office. Bibbs,
fetch my bag. It's in my machine, outside."
And when Bibbs brought the bag to the washroom he found the doctor
still grasping Sheridan's wrist, holding the injured hand over a
basin. Sheridan had lost color, and temper, too. He glared over
his shoulder at his son as the latter handed the bag to Gurney.
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