“Sure, it can’t be more than half an hour; for he’ve——”
The doctor jumped up. “Where is he?” he demanded, with professional eagerness. “It can’t be far. Davy, I must get to him at once. I must attend to that leg. Where is he?”
“Narth Pole, zur,” whispered Sammy.
“Oh-h-h!” cried the doctor; and he sat down again, and pursed his lips, and winked at Sammy in a way most peculiar. “I see!”
“Ay, zur,” Jimmie rattled, eagerly. “We’re fair disappointed that he’s not——”
“Ha!” the doctor interrupted. “I see. Hum! Well, now!” And having thus incoherently exclaimed for a little, the light in his eyes growing merrier all the time, he most unaccountably worked himself into a great rage: whereby I knew that the little Jutts were in some way to be mightily amused. “The lazy rascal!” he shouted, jumping out of his chair, and beginning to stamp the room, frowning terribly. “The fat, idle, blundering dunderhead! Did they send you that message? Did they, now? Tell me, did they? Give me that letter!” He snatched the letter from Martha’s lap. “Sammy,” he demanded, “where did this letter come from?”
“Narth Pole, zur!”
Jonas Jutt blushed—and Matilda threw her apron over her head to hide her confusion.
“And how did it come?”
“Out o’ the stove, zur.”