The case
may be urgent."
"Cameron!" cried Martin again. "I bet my bat it's--Here, wait till I get
my coat. I'll be with you in a jerk. Have you got a good horse?"
"He's all right," said Sam. "He'll git you there in an hour."
"An hour? How far is it?"
"Twelve miles."
"Great heavens! Come, then, get a move on!" And so it came that within
an hour Cameron, opening his eyes, looked up into the face of his
friend.
"Martin! By Jove!" he said, and closed his eyes again. "Martin!" he said
again, looking upon the familiar face. "Say, old boy, is this a dream? I
seem to be having lots of them."
"It's no dream, old chap, but what in the mischief is the matter? What
does all this fever mean? Let's look at you."
A brief examination was enough to show the doctor that a broken leg was
the least of Cameron's trouble. A hasty investigation of the resources
of the farm house determined the doctor's course.
"This man has typhoid fever, a bad case too," he said to Mandy. "We will
take him in to the hospital."
"The hospital?" cried Mandy fiercely. "Will you, then?"
"He will be a lot of trouble to you," said the doctor.
"Trouble? Trouble? What are you talkin' about?"
"We're awful busy, Mandy," interposed the mother, who had been roused
from her bed.
"Oh, shucks, mother! Oh, don't send him away," she pleaded.
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