She ascended the stairs. The first mate looked at his watch.
“Fifteen minutes is enough to pack any trunk,” he observed. “I'll give you that much. Now, them, tumble up. Lively!”
At the door of her parents' room Gertrude rapped softly. Captain Dan opened it and showed a pallid, agitated face.
“She's mighty sick, Gertie,” he declared. “I wish you'd telephone for the doctor.”
CHAPTER XIV
The doctor came, stayed for some time and, after administering a sleeping draught and ordering absolute quiet for his patient, departed, saying that he would come again in the morning. He did so and, before leaving, took Captain Dan and Gertrude into his confidence.
“It is a complete collapse,” he said gravely. “Mrs. Dott is worn out, physically and mentally. She must be kept quiet, she must not worry about anything, she must remain in bed, and she must see no one. If she does this, if she rests—really rests—we may fight off nervous prostration. If she does not—anything may happen. With your permission I shall send a nurse.”
The permission was given, of course, and the nurse came. She was a quiet, pleasant, capable person, and Daniel and Gertrude liked her. She took charge of the sick room. Azuba—the common sense, adequate, domestic Azuba of old, not the rampant “free woman” of recent days—was in charge of the kitchen. Her husband remained, at Daniel's earnest request, but he spent his time below stairs.
“Sartin sure I won't be in the way, Cap'n, be you?” he asked earnestly. “I can go somewheres else just as well as not, to some boardin' house or somewheres. Zuby Jane won't mind; we can see each other every day.”