“Hendon, lad, lay hold of this boy. He’s mad.”
“No, I ain’t,” cried Bob. “Had ’nuff to make me, though.”
“Let go, you dog!” roared Mark.
“All right, I’m a-going to,” said the boy, shrinking away as Rich came to him.
“Bob,” she cried, “what is this you’re saying?”
“Well, I d’know, Miss,” he said, scratching his head; “and I don’t think now it weer him. But I’ll sweer he come and told the doctor as the perlice or some one was after him.”
“Yes, boy, yes; I did come, but you were not there.”
“Worn’t I? Yes, I was,” said the boy, grinning. “I see you come, and you’d got one o’ them, long-tail ulcers and a broad-brimmed hat; and the doctor—I say, Miss, is he better?”
“Yes, yes, Bob; but pray go on.”
“I am glad the guvner’s better. It scared me. I thought he was a dead ’un.”