"Make haste, great sahib, Almos has been bitten by a snake; no one can save him but you."
The stricken chief, from his seat on the ground, looked up in the face of the white man, of whose wonderful skill he had received proof in his own self. The countenance of the Ghoojur was of ashen hue, and the yearning expression of his eyes told of the hope that had been kindled within his breast.
Now that the physician had dropped into what may be called his professional character, he was himself again. He set down the caba containing his instruments, and medicaments, adjusted his glasses, and stooping over, intently studied the wound made by the cobra. Then he drew out his watch, as if he were timing the pulse beats of a patient.
"It is one minute and a half since you were bitten," he said, still holding the timepiece in his hand, but looking into the face of Almos; "in three more minutes and a half no power but Allah can save you."
Catching the full meaning of these words, the Ghoojur leader quivered with suddenly renewed hope.
"Can you save me?" he asked in Hindustani.
"I have in there," replied the physician, tapping his caba with his long forefinger, "that which will render the bite of the snake as harmless as the peck of a bird that flies in the air, but barely three minutes remain in which to apply it."
"Then I beseech you, do not wait," said the eager Almos, shoving his foot towards the doctor; "great is the English doctor; be quick; why do you tarry?"
"Before I heal you," replied Dr. Marlowe, with maddening deliberation, "I must be paid my fee; I have attended you before and refused to accept what you offered, but now I demand payment before applying the remedy."
"You shall have it; name it, I beg you; all that I have shall be yours if you will save me, but haste, O great physician, haste!"