“Right you are; I’ll see to him.”
The two went into the stable, and Mr. Rawton at once proceeded in the most professional manner possible to make a careful examination of his equine patient.
“Well, what do you make of him? inquired Peace, in an anxious tone.
“Umph!” murmured the gipsy. “He’s as bad as a ’oss well can be, that’s what I make of him. He’s got a fever.”
“A fever!”
“There aint the least doubt of that, and the chances are——”
“Are what?” cried our hero.
“That it ull finish him.”
“Don’t say that, Bill.”
“Aye, but I must say it. I think I ought to know something about ’osses by this time. Can’t you see that he keeps grinding his teeth, that his eyes are distended, and that every now and then he is convulsed. His sight and hearing, too, are both evidently affected, and he is unable to swallow.”