But there were some things that even the little doctor could not say.
"Still there, Mr. O'Neill?" he asked a little later.
"Yes. Where is Brian now?"
"In a quarry shack on what we call up here the Finlake mountain."
"Finlake mountain!"
"Yes, barely eighteen miles across the valley from the farm. They couldn't find a doctor. Carson is nearer but he was out. Has a widely scattered farm practice like my own and Don, frantic with terror, telephoned to me. We've done everything possible for him, Mr. O'Neill, but his pulse is pretty feeble and it's difficult to rouse him. Sensibility of course is blunted. Bound to be—"
"I will be there," said Kenny, "as soon—as soon as it is possible. There are but three north-bound trains at Briston?"
"Morning—eight-ten. Noon, one-twenty-nine and night, seven-fifteen. But don't get off at Briston, Mr. O'Neill. Finlake, fifteen miles on, is nearer—"
"I can not possibly make the morning train. The changes make the trip long. Twelve hours… God!"
"I myself will meet you at Finlake. It's three miles farther to the quarry. If you are not on the noon train I will meet the night—"