Nevertheless, when all was said that could be said to himself, or even to Alt—who did not quite agree—Laverick's was much the less serious matter; and John Dollar had turned upon the other side, and was grappling afresh with the other case, when his door opened violently without a knock, and an agitated voice spoke his name.
"It's me—Edenborough," it continued in a hurried whisper. "I want you to get into some clothes and come up to the ice-run as quick as possible!"
"Why? What has happened?" asked the doctor, jumping out of bed as Edenborough drew the curtains.
"Nothing yet. I hope nothing will——"
"But something has!" interrupted the doctor. "What's the matter with your eye?"
"I'll tell you as you dress, only be as quick as you can. Did you forget it was the toboggan races this morning? They're having them at eight instead of nine, because of the sun, and it's ten to eight now. Couldn't you get into some knickerbockers and stick a sweater over all the rest? That's what I've done—wish I'd come to you first. They'll want a doctor if we don't make haste!"
"I wish you'd tell me about your eye," said Dollar, already in his stockings.
"My eye's all right," returned Edenborough, going to the glass. "No, by jove, it's blacker than I thought, and my head's still singing like a kettle. I shouldn't have thought Laverick could hit so hard—drunk or sober."
"That madman?" cried Dollar, looking up from his laces. "I thought he turned in early for once in a way?"
"He was up early, anyhow," said Edenborough, grimly; "but I'll tell you the whole thing as we go up to the run, and I don't much mind who hears me. He's a worse hat even than we thought. I caught him tampering with the toboggans at five o'clock this morning!"