“I do not understand it, Reuben. Of late, stimulants, even in infinitesimal doses, always affect me in this way.”
“I’d bettah put yo’ feet in good hot watah, it will draw de blood from yo’ head.”
Hernando barely retained an upright position during this operation. He felt literally “dead for sleep.” Reuben kept his own opinion to himself, mentally determining that the next hot toddy should be less hastily measured, and he hurried his patient into bed. In less than five minutes Hernando snored loudly, and Reuben thought best to leave him alone; so, after tidying the room, he softly closed the door, chiding himself severely for his supposed carelessness, and returned to finish the chores.
Eletheer still waited in the dining-room and after being told that Hernando would probably be all right in the morning, she retired. Not so with the faithful Reuben. After attending to the thousand and one little tasks which he conscientiously and systematically performed, his pallet was spread by Hernando’s door that he might be ready in case of need. Several times during the night he stealthily crept to Hernando’s bedside only to find him in that same heavy sleep.
“Dat sleep means somefin,” he soliloquized uneasily; and earlier than usual the kitchen fire was kindled and his part of the daily routine begun.
Hernando had not stirred, but he breathed more easily and was bathed in perspiration. His left arm hung over the edge of the bed and as Reuben with tender solicitude raised it and was about to replace it under the cover, the sleeve fell back revealing several small, dry, red spots which, unlike the adjacent skin, were perfectly dry. Reuben stared. This struck him as unusual. Here the sleeper moved his head slightly to the left and just below the right ear were some more of these spots. These also were perfectly dry. He recollected having heard Hernando mention being troubled with “blood-boils.”
“I reckon de hot toddy stirred his blood up, po’ boy. He needs a good clarin’ out,” Reuben mentally said, but he felt uneasy and as soon as Mr. De Vere was heard stirring, the former knocked at his door expressing a wish that Dr. Brinton be summoned.
“By all means,” Mr. De Vere said. “Do you think his case serious? What kind of a night did your charge pass?”
“He done slep’ all night, Massa John, and is sleepin’ hard now. The po’ful strong toddy might do that, but I ’clare, Massa, I jes’ feel he’s dreffel sick.”
“What do you think is the matter?”