“Then by all means go,” said Mrs Doctor, “only pray take care, and remember, Henry,” she whispered affectionately, “I am alone now.”
Vowing that those last words would make him come home far more quickly than he had intended, the doctor prepared the few necessaries he always took upon such occasions, and was about to start, when there was a fresh impediment in the person of Mrs Barlow, who came in, looking the picture of woe, and ready to shake hands effusively, and to kiss Mrs Bolter against her will.
“Going out, doctor?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am, for some days.”
“But you will come to my house first? there is an injured man there. He came and begged me to fetch you to him, for he could not come himself.”
“A Malay?”
“Yes; a native. And he begged so hard that I was compelled to come.”
“Just as I was going out, too,” muttered the doctor, pettishly; but he never refused a call to duty, and hurrying out, he left the widow with his wife, while he went down to the well-appointed little house sleeping in the sunshine close to the river.
As he drew near he saw, at a little distance, a scuffle going on amongst a party of Malays, one of whom seemed for a moment to be struggling against five or six others; but no outcry was made, and deeming it to be some rough play upon the part of the fishermen, he paid little heed to what followed, merely noting that the men hustled their companion into a boat and paddled away.
The next minute he was at Mrs Barlow’s house, where a swarthy-looking Malay presented himself and told his symptoms, which were of so simple a character that the doctor was able to prescribe, and then hurry back to send the medicine required.