“That con-con-founded—fool—shouldn't have—called you. I forbade—him,” gasped Barry.
“But, my dear boy, what is the matter? Are you in pain?”
“No, no,—it's—nothing—only an old—friend come back—for a call,—a brief one—let us—hope. It's only asthma. Looks bad—feels worse—but really—not at all dangerous.”
“What can be done, my boy?” asked Mr. Howland, greatly relieved, as are most laymen, when the trouble can be named. It is upon the terror inspired by the unknown that the medical profession lives.
“Tell Harry—to make—a hot drink,” said Barry, but Harry had already forestalled the request, and appeared with a steaming bowl. “This will—help. Now—go to—bed, Mr. Howland. Do, please.—You distress—me by remaining—there. Harry will—look after me. Good-night.”
Next morning Barry appeared at breakfast a little washed out in appearance, but quite bright and announcing himself fit for anything.
The incident, however, was a determining factor in changing the party's plans. Already they were behind their time schedule, to Mr. Cornwall Brand's disgust. The party was too large and too heavily encumbered with impedimenta for swift travel. Besides, as Paula said, “Why rush? Are we not doing the Peace River Country? We are out for a good time and we are having it.” Paula was not interested in mines and oil. She did not announce just what special interest was hers. She was “having a good time” and that was reason enough for leisurely travel. In consequence their provisions had run low.
It was decided to send forward a scouting party to the Hudson's Bay Post some thirty miles further on to restock their commissariat. Accordingly Knight and Fielding were despatched on this mission, the rest of the party remaining in camp.
“A lazy day or two in camp is what we all need,” said Mr. Howland. “I confess I am quite used up myself, and therefore I know you must all feel much the same.”
On the fourth day the scouting party appeared.