But to Sam's dismay the doctor had gone to Cramm's Mill, six or seven miles away, and would not be back till the morning. Sam was in a quandary. There was another doctor at Brookfield, five miles further on, but there was a possibility that he also might be out.
"Say, there ain't no use goin' back without a doctor. She'd--she'd--Jumpin' Jeremiah! What would she do? Say, Deck, you've got to git down to business. We're goin' to the city. There are doctors there thick as hair on a dog. We'll try Dr. Turnbull.
Say, it'll be great if we could git him! Deck, we'll do it! But you got to git up and dust."
And this Deck proceeded to do to such good purpose that in about an hour's time he stood before Dr. Turnbull's door in the city, somewhat wet, it is true, but with his fiery spirit still untamed.
Here again adverse fate met the unfortunate Sam.
"Doctor Turnbull's no at home," said the maid, smart with cap and apron, who opened the door.
"How long will he be gone?" enquired Sam, wondering what she had on her head, and why.
"There's no tellin'. An hour, or two hours, or three."
"Three hours?" echoed Sam. "Say, a feller might kick the bucket in that time."
The maid smiled an undisturbed smile.
"Bucket? What bucket, eh? What bucket are ye talkin' aboot?" she enquired.
"Say, you're smart, ain't yeh! But I got a young feller that's broke his leg and--"
"His leg?" said the maid indifferently. "Well, he's got another?"
"Yes, you bet he has, but one leg ain't much good without the other. How would you like to hop around on one leg? And he's hurt inside, too, his lights, I guess, and other things." Sam's anatomical knowledge was somewhat vague. "And besides, his girl's takin' on awful."
"Oh, is she indeed?" replied the maid, this item apparently being to her of the very slightest importance.
"Say, if you only saw her," said Sam.
"Pretty, I suppose," said the maid with a touch of scorn.
"Pretty? No, ugly as a hedge fence. But say, I wish she was here right now. She'd bring you to your--to time, you bet."
"Would she, now? I'd sort her." And the little maid's black eyes snapped.
"Say, what'll I do? Jist got to have a doctor."
"Ye'll no git him till to-morrow."
"To-morrow?"
"How far oot are ye?"
"Twelve miles."
"Twelve miles? Ye'll no get him a minute afore to-morrow noon."
"Say, that young feller'll croak, sure. Away from home too. No friends. All his folks in Scotland."
"Scotland, did ye say?" Something appeared to wake up in the little maid. "Look here, why don't ye get a doctor instead o' daunderin' your time here?"
"Git a doctor?" echoed Sam in vast surprise. "And ain't I tryin' to git a doctor? Where'll I git a doctor?"
"Go to the hospital, ye gawk, and ask for Dr. Turnbull, and tell him the young lad is a stranger and that his folk are in Scotland.
Hoots, ye gomeril, be off noo, an' the puir lad wantin' ye. Come, I'll pit ye on yer way." The maid by her speech was obviously excited.
Sam glanced at the clock as he passed out. He had been away an hour and a half.
"Jumpin' Jeremiah! I've got to hurry. She'll take my head off."
"Of course ye have," said the maid sharply. "Go down two streets there, then take the first turn to your left and go straight on for half a dozen blocks or so. Mind ye tell the doctor the lad's frae Scotland!" she cried to Sam as he drove off.
At the hospital Sam was fortunate enough to catch Dr. Turnbull in the hall with one or two others, just as they were about to pass into the consulting room. Such was Sam's desperate state of mind that he went straight up to the group.
"I want Dr. Turnbull," he said.
