Bud Rollins, who had jumped through the window into the street in a dash for a physician, saw Doctor Schulze's buggy just turning out of High Street.
He gave chase, had Schulze beside Arthur within two minutes.

More water, both hot and cold, was brought, and a cleared work bench; with swift, sure fingers the doctor cleaned the stump, cleaned the severed finger, joined and sewed them, bandaged the hand.
"Now, I'll take you home," he said.

"I guess you've distinguished yourself enough for the day." Arthur followed him, silent and meek as a humbled dog.

As they were driving along Schulze misread a mournful look which Arthur cast at his bandaged hand.

"It's nothing--nothing at all," he said gruffly.