So there we were, at a deadlock. There was silence for a space.
“Would you mind sending for the drug?” I asked, at last.
“I presume,” he said, with hauteur, “it will do no harm to have it on hand.”
I was aware of an elderly lady watching us, with consternation written upon every sentimental feature. “Dr. Perrin,” I said, “if Mrs. Tuis will pardon me, I think I ought to speak with you alone.” The nurse hastily withdrew; and I saw the elderly lady draw herself up with terrible dignity—and then suddenly quail, and turn and follow the nurse.
I told the little man what I knew. After he had had time to get over his consternation, he said that fortunately there did not seem to be any sign of trouble.
“There does seem so to me,” I replied. “It may be only my imagination, but I think the eyelids are inflamed.”
I held the baby for him, while he made an examination. He admitted that there seemed to be ground for uneasiness. His professional dignity was now gone, and he was only too glad to be human.
“Dr. Perrin,” I said, “there is only one thing we can do—to get some nitrate of silver at the earliest possible moment. Fortunately, the launch is here.”
“I will have it start at once,” he said. “It will have to go to Key West.”
“And how long will that take?”