“Hah!” he ejaculated once more, as he applied his stethoscope now after a most accurate pantomimic unbuttoning of vest and opening of a shirt-front. “Yes, a little congestion!” he said again; and going back to the chimney-piece, he set the stethoscope on end as if it were a little fancy candlestick, took up a morocco case, and unhooking it, extracted therefrom a tiny thermometer, whose bulb he placed beneath his patient’s arm-pit, and he was just about to see to what height the sufferer’s temperature had risen, when there were steps again, and the boy had hardly time to hide the little tester, when the door opened, and, with a wild, dilated look in her eyes, Rich appeared again.
“Get me a small bottle,” she said hastily.
“’Ain’t it no better, Miss?”
“Don’t talk to me!” cried Rich; “the pain is maddening. Is my father still asleep?”
“Yes, Miss; shall I wake him?”
“No, no. The bottle—the bottle!”
The boy hastily took a clean bottle from a drawer, and fitted it with a new cork from another, by which time, with the knowledge of one who had before now made up prescriptions for her father, Rich took down the chloral hydrate, and a graduated glass, pouring out a goodly quantity ready to transfer to the bottle the boy handed her, while he still retained the cork.
This done, Rich returned the chloral hydrate to the shelf, and took down another bottle labelled quin. sulph. sol. From this she poured out a certain quantity, and by the time the glass had shed its last drop, Bob was ready to hand another and larger bottle, which he had taken down with eager haste, as if fearing she would be first.
Rich glanced at it, saw that it was labelled aq. dest., and filled up the medicine-bottle, the boy handing the cork, and then gazing sympathetically in the pain-drawn face before him.
“Hadn’t you better let me take it out, Miss?” he said, but there was no smile in answer—no reply, Rich hurrying away, while the boy listened to her footsteps.