“Oscar, how are you? Are you sure you feel well?”
“Y—yes, all right, just a little tired with all the travelling, you know. But what do you ask for?”
“Oh, we are in such a fright. Typhoid fever has broken out in the town. The little office-boy you have been visiting so often has it; and everybody was saying that you were looking ill. Five cases are reported to-day, and they say there will be more. You are quite sure you are well, Oscar? Sheila, did he eat his breakfast this morning?”
“He hardly ate anything either last night or to-day,” cried Sheila, in sudden anxiety. “He has a bad headache. We thought it was from the long journey.”
The girls stood looking at each other in dismay. The same fear was in both hearts. Oscar turned from them and began climbing the stairs with a strange languor in his movements.
“I think I’ll go to my room,” he said, “but don’t bother, I shall be all right there.”
“He’s got it!” cried Ray, under her breath; and Sheila turned white to the lips.
(To be continued.)
OUR PUZZLE POEMS: AN ACCIDENTAL CYCLE.
FOREIGN AWARDS.