“No.”
“H’m, I can hardly advise you to leave him till somebody comes to relieve guard. But it’s doubtful whether he will be well in time to nurse you. You should send for your own folk in time.”
If this doctor had not been Railsford’s only support at present, he would have resented this professional flippancy more than he did.
“I’m not afraid,” said he. “I shall try to find out where his people live. Meanwhile would it be well to send a trained nurse here; or can I manage myself?”
“Quite straightforward work,” said the doctor, “if you like it. I’ve known cases no worse than this finish up in three days, or turn the corner in seven. You mustn’t be surprised if he gets a great deal worse at night. He’s a bit delirious already.”
Then the doctor went into a few details as to the medicine and method of nursing.
The most important thing was to discover, if possible, the address of the patient’s parents, and summon them. He approached the bed in the vague hope that Branscombe might be able to help him. But the sufferer, though he opened his eyes, seemed not to know him, and muttered to himself what sounded more like Greek verse than English. In desperation Railsford summoned Mrs Phillips. She, cautious woman, with a son of her own, would by no means come into the room, but stood at the door with a handkerchief to her mouth.
“Have you any idea where his home is?”
“No. Hasn’t he labelled his box?”
“He does not seem to have begun to pack at all. Do you know the doctor’s address?”