He allowed a half hour to pass by, then administered another dose.
At times he fancied he could trace a slight return of color in his chum's pale face but, if any, it was so slight that he could not be certain.
At the end of an hour he gave a third stiff dose of the powerful stimulant.
"I wish the captain would get here with the doctor," he said, anxiously. "I can't see as he is improving any. I fancy most that stuff is doing is to help keep him from slipping away from us."
"Dat's de captain, now," Chris said, joyfully, as there came a brisk rap at the door.
It was not the captain but a young, athletic-looking man bearing a small, black, leather case.
"I am the doctor," he announced. "How is the boy? Still alive?"
"Yes, he is still living," said Charley, in relief, "but I don't think he will last much longer unless you can help him."
"What have you done for him?" the doctor inquired, as he knelt by the stricken lad and felt his pulse.
Charley told him briefly.