"Hoh, hoh!" Pickering made out to exclaim, "if I couldn't say anything original, I wouldn't talk. You're only an echo to that miserable little donkey of a medical man."
[Illustration: "I'll help you; I'm strong," said Charlotte.]
"But you really ought to go back to bed," Ben insisted.
"Really ought?" repeated Pickering, in high disdain; "as if I'd put myself again under that quack's thumb. No, sir!" and snapping his fingers derisively at Ben, he straightened up jauntily on his somewhat uncertain feet. "All I want is a little air," stumbling off to the window.
"Well, I'm going to tell Phronsie that my arm is all right," said Polly, hurrying off; "beside I want to see Johnny"—
"It's time for me to look after that young man, too," said old Mr. King, following her; "I haven't heard him roar to-day. Come on, Jasper; you must see Johnny."
As they disappeared, Ben ran over to Pickering, and was aghast to find that the face laid against the window-casing was deathly white, and that all his shaking of the broad shoulders could not make Pickering open his eyes.
"Jasper," called Ben, in despair.
"Hush!" Some one came hurrying up. "Don't call Jasper; then Polly will know. Let me help."
Ben looked up. "O, Charlotte! that's good. Pick's done up. Call Mrs.
Higby, will you? we must get him to bed."