"Good morning," he said. "I intended to kick up a row but I've changed my mind. Hand over your pills and I'll go to bed."
When he awoke next day, it was only to a foolish delirium. The doctor looked at him, and then at Hemming.
"I suppose you can give it a name," he said.
Hemming nodded.
"I've had it myself," he replied.
The President, followed by his daughter, came into the room. Hicks recognized the girl.
"Marion," he said, and when she bent over him, "something has happened after all."
She looked up at Hemming with a colourless face. Her eyes were brave enough, but the pitiful expression of her mouth touched him with a sudden painful remembrance. During the hours of daylight the doctor and Miss Tetson watched by the bedside, moving silently and speaking in whispers in the darkened room.
The doctor was an Englishman somewhat beyond middle age, with a past well buried. In the streets and on the trail his manner was short almost to rudeness. He often spoke bitterly and lightly of those things which most men love and respect. In the sick-room, be it in the rich man's villa or in the mud hut of the plantation labourer, he spoke softly, and his hands were gentle as a woman's.
Hemming had been working with his little army all day, and, after dining at the mess, he changed and relieved Miss Tetson and the doctor. Before leaving the room, the girl turned to him nervously.