“Wait a moment, Blount. Captain Hiram, do you live far from here?”
The Captain started. “No, sir, only a little ways.”
“All right. I'll go down and look at this boy of yours. Mind you, I'll not take the case, simply give my opinion on it, that's all. Blount, take my grip to Mr. Williams's. I'm going to walk down with the Captain.”
“Haul on ee bowline, ee bowline, haul!” muttered the first mate, as they came into the room. The lamp that Sophronia was holding shook, and the Captain hurriedly brushed his eyes with the back of his hand.
Dr. Morgan started perceptibly as he bent forward to look at the little fevered face of Dusenberry. Graver and graver he became as he felt the pulse and peered into the swollen throat. At length he rose and led the way back into the sitting room.
“Captain Baker,” he said simply, “I must ask you and your wife to be brave. The child has diphtheria and—”
“Diphthery!” gasped Sophronia, as white as her best tablecloth.
“Good Lord above!” cried the Captain.
“Diphtheria,” repeated the Doctor; “and, although I dislike extremely to criticize a member of my own profession, I must say that any physician should have recognized it.”
Sophronia groaned and covered her face with her apron.