“No.”
“Are you sure? Sometimes a wound goes unnoticed in the heat of combat. Perhaps I had better look you over. I am reasonably sure the dog had hydrophobia.”
He forthwith examined me with the aid of the flashlight. I had not known it before, but my left coat sleeve was torn, and my arm was bleeding where the sharp fangs had raked it.
“Infected,” he said, “and of course I have no serum with me. Come out on the porch.”
On the porch, he made a ligature with a towel and a pair of long scissors. Then he took a bottle and some cotton from his case and drenched the wounds with silver nitrate.
“Better come to the hospital with me at once for a serum treatment,” he advised. “It may save your life.”
“But I can’t leave my friends——” I began.
“Nonsense,” interrupted Dr. Dorp, who was sitting up, although still muffled in a blanket. “Miss Van Loan and I will be all right here on the porch until you get back.”
“Of course,” said the girl. “You have put your life in sufficient jeopardy as it is, Mr. Evans.”
Thus admonished, I got into the coupe with the young doctor, and we set out for the hospital.