"Tell me where that pain is, Dick," he said, softly. "Where does it hurt most when I press down?"
"There! there!" Dick cried out in sudden agony.
"I see. That will do. I sha'n't hurt you again." He drew the shirt down and moved back toward the lamp.
"I'm sure you will give him—something to reduce that fever." Mostyn knew that the remark was a mere tentative foil against the verdict stamped upon the bearded face. The doctor slowly wiped the tiny tube and restored it to its case.
"I must be frank," he said, in a low tone. "My opinion is that he must be operated on at once—without delay—early in the morning at the very latest."
"Why—why—surely—" Mostyn began, but went no further. The objects in the room seemed to swim about him. He and the doctor were buoys floating face to face.
"It is appendicitis," Loyd said. "Of course, I'd call another doctor in consultation before anything is done, but I am sure I am not mistaken."
Mostyn's soul stared from a dead face with all but glazed eyes. He nodded toward the door opening into the hall and led the doctor from the room. In the hall he put his hand on Loyd's shoulder.
"I am sure you know best," he gasped. "What do you propose?"
"That I take him at once to my sanitarium in my car. In warm weather like this you won't have to wrap him much. You'd better get him ready now. I'll telephone the nurse to have a room prepared."