A GOOD many things happened “endurin’ of the feveh”—if Dick’s expressive and by no means inapt phrase may again be employed.
First of all the outbreak gave Madison Peyton what he deemed his opportunity. It seemed to him to furnish occasion for that reconciliation with Aunt Polly which he saw to be necessary to his plans, and, still more important, it seemed to afford an opportunity for him to withdraw Dorothy from the influence of Dr. Arthur Brent.
Accordingly, as soon as news came to him of the epidemic, and of Arthur Brent’s heroic measures in meeting it, he hurried over to Wyanoke, full of confident plans.
“This is dreadful news, Cousin Polly,” he said, as soon as he had bustled into the house.
“What news, Madison?” answered the old lady. “What have you come to tell me?”
“Oh I mean this dreadful fever outbreak—it is terrible—”
“I don’t know,” answered Aunt Polly, reflectively. “We have had only ten or a dozen cases so far, and you had three or four times that many at your quarters last year.”
“Oh, yes, but of course this is very much worse. You see Arthur has had to burn down all the quarters, and destroy all the clothing. He’s a scientific physician, you know, and—”
“But all science is atheistic, Madison. You told me so yourself over at Osmore, and so of course you don’t pay any attention to Arthur’s scientific freaks.”
“Now you know I didn’t mean that, Cousin Polly,” answered Peyton, apologetically. “Of course Arthur knows all about fevers. You know how he distinguished himself at Norfolk.”