“I say, doctor, do make haste and give him a dose of something to do him good, or else put him out of his misery.”
“Jack!” I said in disgust.
“Well, he’s awful bad, you know, and he ought to have something. Mind how you go to him. I went just now and he began hitting at my legs with his waddy, and then he poked at Gyp with his spear for going up to smell him.”
“He won’t hurt me,” I said sadly; and as another doleful cry came from among the bushes, I led the way to where the poor fellow lay, horribly swollen and writhing in agony.
Two of the blacks were watching him, and from what we could make out it seemed that Jimmy had alarmed them by his restlessness, and that they had fetched him back when he ran some distance and fell, and laid him where he now was, in too much agony to stir.
“What is the matter with him, doctor?” I said excitedly, as I went down on one knee and took the poor fellow’s hand, which he grasped convulsively, and laid flat directly upon his chest—at least that is to say, nearly.
“I hardly know yet, my lad,” said the doctor. “Perhaps he has eaten some poisonous berry. You know how he tastes every wild fruit we pass.”
“And will it—will it—”
I could say no more, for something seemed to choke my voice, and I looked up imploringly in the doctor’s eyes.
“Oh! no, Joe, my lad,” he said kindly, “not so bad as that.”