Mrs. Cameron took her lips from the wound again, and her lips parted to shriek once more; but her cries had been heard, and the doctor came running down to her side.
There was no need to ask questions—he saw what had happened at a glance, and the dangerous nature of the wound was told by the swollen shape of the snake's neck by Phra's boot.
"Once more," he said to his wife; "then let me."
As Mrs. Cameron pressed her lips to the wound, her husband snatched the thin silk neckerchief Harry wore from his neck, twisted it up into a cord, and tied it as tightly as he could round the lad's arm, just above the elbow-joint.
"Now let me come," he said sharply. "Run in, Mary; fetch basin, sponge, water, and the caustic bottle."
Mrs. Cameron was used to her husband's ways in emergencies, and resigning the patient to his hands she ran off to the house.
"Sit down here, Hal," said Cameron, "and keep a good heart, lad. I daresay we shall take it in time."
As he spoke he pressed the silent lad back into Mrs. Cameron's chair, snatched off the jacket, tore open the shirt-sleeve, and then drew out his pocket-book, from which he took a lancet.
With this he scarified the tiny wound, making it bleed freely, before placing his lips to it and trying to draw the poison away again and again, while Phra stood close by, his face of a livid hue, and making no offer of help on account of his position.
For the serpent was still twined tightly about his ankle and leg, and he felt sure that if he released the head from beneath his foot, the reptile would strike again.