"I--I'm very ill. I--I think I need a doctor," gasped Curtis. "Take me somewhere, please."
He fell back limply, half fainting, into Hatch's arms. A cab came worming through the crowd; Hatch climbed into it, assisting Curtis, and gave some directions to the cabby.
"And hurry," he added. "This gentleman is ill."
The cabby applied the whip and drove out into Tremont, then over toward Park Street. Curtis aroused a little.
"Where're we going?" he demanded.
"To a doctor," replied Hatch.
Curtis sank back with eyes closed and his face white--so white that Hatch felt of the pulse to assure himself that the heart was still beating. After a few minutes the cab stopped and, still assisting Curtis, Hatch went to the door. An aged woman answered the bell.
"Professor Van Dusen here?" asked the reporter. "Yes."
"Please tell him that Mr. Hatch is here with a gentleman who needs immediate attention," Hatch directed, hurriedly.
He knew his way here and, still supporting Curtis, walked in. The woman disappeared. Curtis sank down on a couch in the little reception room, looked at Hatch glassily for a moment, then without a sound dropped back on the couch unconscious.