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.
"You go on back to your work," he said.