Carey turned pale. “He’s got that rooster in his throat,” he said solemnly. The rooster was nearly life-size, but the incongruity of this suggestion did not strike him. Judith hastily rose from her chair and went to him.
“Had we better go up?” he whispered.
“Heavens—no!” Judith clutched his arm. “We couldn’t do any good. The doctor’s there. Such things make me ill. They ought not to have let him have the toy to take to bed with him. How could it get into his throat? Perhaps they are making it crow to divert him. Perhaps he’s hurt himself somehow.”
“He’s got the crow part of that thing in his throat,” Carey persisted in an anxious whisper. “The manufacturers ought to be prosecuted for making a toy that will come apart like that.”
“Don’t stand there,” protested his wife. “Maybe it’s nothing. Come here and sit down.”
But Carey stood still. Presently Anthony came to the head of the stairs.
“Wayne,” said he rapidly, “telephone Roger’s office. Ask the trained nurse, Miss Hughes, to send a messenger with the doctor’s emergency surgical case by the first train—he can catch the 9:40 if he’s quick. Tell Miss Hughes to follow as soon as she can get ready, prepared to stay all night.”
Then he disappeared. His voice had been steady and quiet, but his eyes had showed his friend that the order was given under tension. Carey sprang to the telephone, and his hand shook as he took down the receiver.
Upstairs Roger Barnes, in command, was giving cool, concise orders, his eyes on his little patient. When he had despatched Juliet for various things, including boiling water which she must get downstairs, he said to Anthony in a conversational tone:
“It will probably not be safe to wait till my instruments get here, and there’s no surgeon near enough to call. I’m not going to take any chances on this boy. If I see the necessity I’m going to get into that throat and give him air. I shall want you and Carey to hold him. Juliet must be downstairs.”