Travers returned at tea-time; as he stumbled into the verandah, and sank exhausted into a chair, he looked completely "done."
"Ah, I see you have been down to the lower ground," said Nancy. "Now that was really too bad of you,—when you have a touch of fever."
As she handed him his cup she added:
"Let me feel your hand—why, it's almost red-hot!"
"My dear child, don't make a fuss," he exclaimed irritably; "I'll take a dose of quinine, and lie down till dinner-time,—will that please you?"
Nancy said no more, but shut her lips tightly, and began to prepare his special buttered toast.
"I can't touch anything," he protested, "but I've an awful thirst on," and he swallowed greedily, one after the other, two large cups of tea.
"I'm afraid I must worry you, dear Daddy, and dress your arm," she urged. "I promise I'll be as quick as I can," and she led him away to his own room. Presently she returned, and said to Mayne, who was still sitting in the verandah: "I want you to ride over at once, and ask Dr. Hicks to drop in this evening,—quite casually, of course. I simply dare not tell Daddy I've sent for him; he always pooh-poohs doctors, and illnesses, and he won't allow me to take his temperature, nor will he go to bed. His arm has a queer, livid appearance, and is terribly swollen; I must say, I cannot help feeling rather nervous."
"Oh, all right," said Mayne, rising; "I'll be off at once, and I'll bring Hicks back with me,—dead or alive."
When Mayne arrived at Panora, Dr. Hicks happened to be out, and it was nine o'clock when the two men reached Fairplains. By this time Travers, who now admitted that he was "feeling a bit out of sorts," was obviously worse.