And here, in consequence of a sudden forward movement from Flanagan, he hurriedly withdrew, and left us for the first time that evening with leisure to look about us.
It was no time, however, for asking questions or giving explanations. An exclamation from Jack turned all attention to Billy, who lay still unconscious and as white as a sheet where he had fallen. Jack gently raised him and laid him on the bed. “Open the window, somebody,” said he.
The air seemed to revive the boy somewhat, for he opened his eyes and looked vacantly round. But a fit of sickness followed this partial recovery, and again he swooned.
Jack’s face was nearly as pale as the boy’s as he looked up and said, “Fetch the doctor! Quick!”
Flanagan darted off almost before the words were out of his lips.
There was nothing for us who were left behind to do but to watch with painful anxiety the poor little sufferer, who lay mostly unconscious, and still at intervals violently sick.
Masham’s ruffianly blow and kick had evidently done far more damage than he or any one supposed. As we waited in silence for the doctor to come our alarm increased, and it even seemed doubtful whether, as we stood there, we were not destined to see a terrible end to that evening’s proceedings.
“Has the boy a father or mother?” whispered my uncle to me.
Jack who sat with the sufferer’s head on his arm, heard the question, and said hurriedly, “Yes. You must fetch his mother, Fred!”
There was such a tone of alarm in his voice that had Billy’s mother been a wild beast I could hardly have disobeyed.