When Dawney had examined him, he asked:
“Well?”
“Well,” answered Dawney slowly, “there's trouble, of course.”
Mr. Treffry broke out with a husky whisper: “Out with it, Doctor; don't humbug me.”
Dawney bent down, and took his wrist.
“I don't know how you've got into this state, sir,” he said with the brusqueness of emotion. “You're in a bad way. It's the old trouble; and you know what that means as well as I. All I can tell you is, I'm going to have a big fight with it. It shan't be my fault, there's my hand on that.”
Mr. Treffry lay with his eyes fixed on the ceiling; at last he said:
“I want to live.”
“Yes—yes.”
“I feel better now; don't make a fuss about it. It'll be very awkward if I die just now. Patch me up, for the sake of my niece.”