"I'm afraid it's come to a crisis," said he.
"Nothing more you can do?" asked Mr. Hartshorn.
"I'm afraid not, sir," said Tom.
"Then there's no time to be lost," said Mr. Hartshorn. "We must send for Dr. Runkle. I ought to have done it before."
They jumped into the car and drove down to the telegraph office.
The next day Dr. Runkle appeared with Tom and Mr. Hartshorn. He was the Bridgeport veterinary surgeon that had come too late to save poor Rags. Mr. Hartshorn considered him the best veterinarian in the state.
With gentle, skilful hands he made a thorough examination.
"A bad case of pneumonia," said he. "The first thing to do is to get him into a warmer place. This barn is all right for most things, but he needs some artificial heat now."
Mrs. Whipple was standing near, and Jack looked at her doubtfully. She did not hesitate. Apparently she had forgotten all about her vow never to allow the dogs into the house.
"Bring him right into the house," said she. "Jack, you go and get some of that burlap from the storeroom, and we'll make a bed for him in the kitchen."