“My dear madam, calm yourself. I will explain the best I can. I hardly know how to do so. I think Mr. Pearson could do better than I could.”
“Mother, take papa home. Do, please, out of this horrid place, never to return.”
“I am very sorry, miss, but I—”
“You do not expect my husband to remain on duty when he is suffering, do you?
“Tell me how did you get so badly hurt,” said Mrs. Pearson, turning to her husband.
“Mother, do you not see that he can not raise his head?”
Pat, listening outside, remarked: “Not because he is hurt, little miss, but because he is ashamed to raise his head, and I am afraid you will not be able to raise your head up when this is all brought out. I feel I would of done the poor fellow a favor if I had bate him to death. Ho will have to die sometime, and perhaps this would of suited him better.”
“He will have to remain in the hospital, here, and we will take care of him.”
“Oh! I have a doctor, my family doctor, and I want him to look after him. What did you send for me for? Wasn’t it to take him home?” said Mrs. Pearson.
“No; I did not know at the time I was talking that he was injured. You know, he had this trouble—I told Pat to call around to his cell and see how he was getting along.”