Little by little, the reddening of the skin lasted longer, little by little the bluish tints began to go, little by little the stiffening which had begun, relaxed.
"He's coming round," cried the doctor. "Harder, now! Put your back into it, Mark!"
Nearly an hour had passed when the negro, exhausted and trembling from his exertions, sank into a chair. The doctor eyed him keenly, gave him a stiff dose from a medicine glass, and returned to his patient.
"He'll do now," he said. "In half an hour he'll feel as well as ever, and by tomorrow he'll be terribly ill."
"For de sake, Mister Ol' Doc, I got to rub um tomorrow?" pleaded the negro.
"No, not tomorrow. From now on, I've got to 'potion um,' as you put it."
He put his hand in his pocket.
"Here, Mark," he said, "is half a sovereign. That isn't for saving the boy's life, you understand, for you'd have done that any way, but for working on him as you have."
The negro pocketed the coin with a wide smile, but lingered.
"I want to see um come 'round," he explained.