But just wait a little; for you wouldn't ask me
to come with half my face unshaven, would you?"
"I can go back. . . . No, I can't. The bank is too slippery. . . .
But I can look the other way," added Miss Marty, heroically.
"I really don't see why you should," answered the Doctor, as he
resumed his kneeling posture. "Now, to my mind," he went on in the
intervals of finishing his toilet, "there's no harm in it, and,
speaking as a man, it gives one a pleasant sociable feeling."
"I--have often wondered how it was done," confessed Miss Marty.
"It looks horribly dangerous."
"The fact is," said the Doctor, wiping his blade, "I cannot endure to
feel unshaven, even when campaigning."
He restored the razor to his haversack, blew out the spirit-lamp,
emptied the tin cup on the stones, packed up, resumed his shako, and
stood erect.
"My stocking, please!" Miss Marty pleaded.
"It is by no means dry yet," he answered, stooping and examining it.
"Let me help you down, that you may see for yourself."
"Oh, I _couldn't_!"
"Meaning your foot and ankle? Believe me you have no cause to be
ashamed of _them_, Miss Marty," the Doctor assured her gallantly,
climbing the slope and extending an arm for her to lean upon.
"Those people--across the water," she protested, with a slight blush
and a nod in the direction of the shouting, which for some minutes
had been growing louder.
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