"Not yet."
In answer to Anthony's questions, the surgeon spoke plainly.
"He's getting steadily worse. That will go on for anything from six to twelve hours. Then one of two things will become apparent—either that he will recover, or that he can't."
"What about my being with him?"
"If you like to be near, sir, yes. As to being in the room—he's a highly-strung little fellow, and in the circumstances I don't advise it. Of course, if there was any sudden change …"
"I'm in your hands," said Anthony. "I'll leave my hat here. Then he'll know that I'm at hand."
"You couldn't do better, sir."
The surgeon was patently glad of an owner who would do as he said.
Anthony stooped to touch the damp muzzle….
Then he stole gently away.