[ Continued from here. ]

"You're hurt," Goodsir says, in a tone that brooks little argument. "Let me see your hand, if you please. I'm a—"

If ever I was a doctor...

"—a ship's surgeon. Let me help you."

Is there a touch of desperation in his voice? An urge to make of himself again what he thought he was, what he ought to be? Yes—but he really does want to help.