“Morning, stranger,” he muttered. He winked at me slyly. His face was puffy and red, his eyes swollen, his breathing irregular and labored. “What’s matter?” he protested thickly, then he smiled, with a painful contortion of his fever-seared lips, “I seem to be hors de combat. Terrible pain here.” He touched his chest.
“I’ll get a doctor at once,” I said.
He thanked me, gave me a keen look, and asked wheezingly: “Not married? No wife about?”
I shook my head. “Unfortunately, no.”
He winked at me a second time. “Lascia la moglie e tienti donzello,” he cackled.
I went from the room pondering on the strange personality of this man, who was unquestionably a scholar, and who, no doubt, considered himself a gentleman. I dispatched Joey for a doctor.
“Take Buttons and ride to Roselake as fast as you can,” I bade him. “Where’s the collie? He may go along.”
Joey, basking in the sun on the back steps, laid aside his flute. His lips drew down, and his eyes bulged widely.
“The big man’s going to stay, then, Mr. David?”
“Run along,” I said sharply.