“How is it, doctor?” Merriwell anxiously asked, in a whisper.
The man shook his head.
“I can’t tell yet,” he confessed; “but I fear he is done for. He has been starved, and his lungs are in a bad way. What he needs most is stimulants and food, but everything must be mild, as his system is in such a weakened condition. As for the injury to his side, of which he complains, of course I cannot tell how severe that may be.”
Frank’s heart sank, for the doctor was more discouraging in his manner than in his words.
“Save him if you can, doctor!” he entreated.
“I will. Is he a friend or relative of yours?”
“He is an utter stranger to me. I never saw him before to-night.”
The doctor lifted his eyebrows in astonishment.
“Indeed! Then who is to pay the bills for his care and treatment?”
“I will,” Frank promptly answered. “Here, take this as a fee in advance.”