Quite late in the afternoon I was hurrying through the hall, when he opened his door suddenly. His hair was tumbled, his cheeks scarlet, and his eyes wild and staring.
“For God’s sake, get me a drink of water!” he cried, hoarsely.
I took it up to him, and knocked; but there was no answer. I made some ado opening the door, and walked in rather timidly. He was laughing and talking incoherently but clutched at the pitcher of water and drank great, desperate swallows. Then he sank back on the bed exhausted.
I ran to mamma in affright.
“Louis Duncan is sick and out of his mind!” I cried. “O, mamma, I am sorry they came. We shall have our hands full of trouble.”
She went to the room with me. He did not appear to know either of us, and we could not rouse him to any coherency.
“It is a fever. The doctor must be sent for immediately. Tell Nelly to go. And, Rose, we must arrange the other room, and take him over there, since it may be a long illness. Well, we must have patience. God knows what is for the best.”
I soon had everything in order. Papa coming in, he partly led and partly carried Louis to the best room. Mamma bathed his head and put some draughts on his wrists and his feet. Now he lay quietly, with his eyes half open, breathing heavily.
Dr. Hawley called just before supper.
“A bad case,” he said, gravely, “a bad case! Why, the fellow is worn to skin and bone already, and looks as if he had had the jaundice for the last month. But we will do our best. He may be stronger than he appears.”