"The Smoking Leg" by John Metcalfe

The Smoking Leg by John Metcalf One The Lasker fellow, whom Gagin, the up-country doctor, had tended so assiduously, was lanky and long, but otherwise not remarkable.

He had come hurtling into Gagin's little compound one afternoon with bloodshot eyes and intermittent yells, and then had fallen conveniently down the saw-pit at the side of the verandah.

Gagin got him out and pinched him carefully all over to see where he was hurt.

When he pinched his knee, the Lasker shrieked, "'Ah!' "'Ah!' said Gagin.

"'Tummy ache, eh? Is it very bad?' He pinched the knee again, and this time the Lasker summoned strength to spit at him.

"'I don't like the look of him at all,' said the doctor to his man, Muhammad Ali." That spitting was a bad symptom.

It's so unusual in Laskers.

We'd better take him inside.

Now, Gagin had the reputation of being mad, but of this, of course, the Lasker could know nothing, and by the time that he had spent ten days beneath the doctor's roof, drinking his soda parney and sharing his curry butt, he had formed quite a strong attachment for his protector.

As Laskers go, he was really a very nice Lasker, and, after all, he was little more than a boy.

His name was Abdullah Jan.

His affection for Gagren, however, was somewhat severely strained, when, on the eleventh day, the doctor tied him securely down upon a sofa, spread a white sheet underneath him, and opened out a large black leather case of glittering knives.

The Smoking Leg by John Metcalf One The Lasker fellow, whom Gagin, the up-country doctor, had tended so assiduously, was lanky and long, but otherwise not remarkable.

He had come hurtling into Gagin's little compound one afternoon with bloodshot eyes and intermittent yells, and then had fallen conveniently down the saw-pit at the side of the verandah.

Gagin got him out and pinched him carefully all over to see where he was hurt.

When he pinched his knee, the Lasker shrieked, "'Ah!' "'Ah!' said Gagin.

"'Tummy ache, eh? Is it very bad?' He pinched the knee again, and this time the Lasker summoned strength to spit at him.

"'I don't like the look of him at all,' said the doctor to his man, Muhammad Ali." That spitting was a bad symptom.

It's so unusual in Laskers.

We'd better take him inside.

Now, Gagin had the reputation of being mad, but of this, of course, the Lasker could know nothing, and by the time that he had spent ten days beneath the doctor's roof, drinking his soda parney and sharing his curry butt, he had formed quite a strong attachment for his protector.

As Laskers go, he was really a very nice Lasker, and, after all, he was little more than a boy.

His name was Abdullah Jan.

His affection for Gagren, however, was somewhat severely strained, when, on the eleventh day, the doctor tied him securely down upon a sofa, spread a white sheet underneath him, and opened out a large black leather case of glittering knives.