CHAPTER XXX
When Dr. Greydon reached the bedside of Roderick Barclugh, Dr. Biddle was bathing his patient’s hands and arms, and laboring over him to reduce the temperature. As the two doctors met in the sick-room, Dr. Biddle arose and quietly addressed his friend:
“Dr. Greydon, I am glad that you have come. This gentleman is suffering from a severe wound in the shoulder, and this fever has attacked him in a virulent form, and unless we can reduce the temperature, his chances are very slim for recovery.”
“Well, I am surprised to learn that he is wounded,” replied Dr. Greydon, “but I heard that he undertook a perilous adventure to pass through the enemy’s lines into New York, on a business enterprise; but where did he get this fever? Are you sure that it is vomito negro?
“I presume that he met with some hair-breadth escape when he undertook to get out of New York. How long has this paroxysm been running?” continued Dr. Greydon.
“Ever since early this morning,” replied Dr. Biddle. “He was in his usual health yesterday, his servant told me.”
Dr. Greydon quietly bent over the patient, and went through all the formalities of a medical examination. When he had finished he looked at Dr. Biddle and dubiously shook his head, as he said:
“Doctor, your diagnosis is correct. He certainly has vomito negro, and the depressed condition of his system from the shock that the wound has caused, must make his case critical, very critical.”
“Yes,” continued Dr. Biddle, “if we can reduce the fever, he will have to receive careful nursing and I have notified Milling & FitzMaurice that they shall have to send this gentleman a nurse, but none has come yet; and it is four hours ago that I saw them.”