“Appleplexy, no doubt, master,” said the most intelligent of the men; “I have ‘eared that if you can bleed them——”
“Hold your tongue, or Iʼll phlebotomise you.” That big word inspired universal confidence, because no one understood it. “Now, support him in that position, while I pull his boots off. One of you run to the inn for a bottle of French cognac—not this filthy stuff, mind—and a corkscrew and a teaspoon. Now the hot water here! In with his feet, and bathe his legs, while I sponge his face and chest—as hot as you can bear your hands in it. His heart is all but stopped, and his skin as cold as ice. Thatʼs it; quicker yet! Donʼt be afraid of scalding him. There, he begins to feel it.”
The dying manʼs great heavy eyelids slowly and feebly quivered, and a long deep sigh arose, but there was not strength to fetch it. Dr. Hutton took advantage of the faint impulse of life to give him a little brandy, and then a little more again, and by that time he could sigh.
“Bo,” he whispered very softly, and trying to lift his hand for something, and Rufus Hutton knew somehow (perhaps by means of his own child) that he was trying to say, “Bob.”
“Bob will be here directly. Cheer up, cheer up, till he comes, my friend.”
He called him his friend, and the very next day he would have denounced him as murderer to the magistrates at Lymington. Now his only thought was of saving the poor manʼs life.
The fatherʼs dull eyes gleamed again when he heard those words, and a little smile came flickering over the stern lines of his face. They gave him more brandy on the strength of it, while he kept on looking at the door.
“Rub, rub, rub, men; very lightly, but very quickly. Keep your thumbs up, donʼt you see? Mustnʼt get cold again for the world. There now, heʼll keep his heart up until his dear son arrives. And then his children shall nurse him, much better than any one else could; and how glad they will be, John Thomas, to see him looking so well and so strong again!”
All this time, Rue Hutton himself, with a womanʼs skill and tenderness, was encouraging, by gentle friction over the stagnant heart, each feeble impulse yet to live, each little bubble faintly rising from the well of hope, every clinging of the soul to the things so hard to leave behind. “While there is life, there is hope.” True and genial saying! And we hope there is hope beyond it.
Poor Bull Garnet was taken home, even that very night. For Dr. Hutton saw how much he was longing for his children, who (until he was carried in) knew nothing of his danger. “Please God,” said Rufus to himself, as he crouched in the fly by the narrow mattress, even foregoing his loved cheroot, and keeping his hand on his patientʼs pulse; “please God, the poor fellow shall breathe his last with a child at either side of him.”