“Surely you don’t think it will prove fatal?” said Sir John.
The doctor was silent.
“Oh, Doctor Instow,” cried Jack in agony, “this is too terrible. The poor fellow came out for what he looked upon as a pleasure-trip, and now he is like this. Oh, pray do something.”
“My boy,” said the doctor gravely, “I have done everything possible.”
“But try something else,” cried Jack angrily. “I thought doctors could do anything with medicine.”
“I wish they could,” said his father’s friend sadly; “but it is at times like this, Jack, we doctors and surgeons find out how small our powers are.”
“But only this morning he was so happy and full of life and fun,” cried Jack, as he sank on his knees by the couch to take the poor fellow’s cold hand in his. “It seems too hard to believe. Ned! Ned! you can hear what I say?”
There was no reply, and the boy looked wildly from one to the other.
“Oh, father,” he cried, as he saw their grave looks, “is he dying?”
Sir John was silent, and Jack caught at the doctor’s hand.