was to have met scores of friends and fought again scores of old
battles, and to have dined with the crews in the evening!

What was to become of all these plans now? He was absolutely a prisoner
at this poor fellow's bedside. He did not know his address at home, or
where to send for help. Besides, even if he could discover it, it would
be twenty-four hours at least before he could hand over his charge into
other hands.

These selfish regrets, however, only flashed through Railsford's mind to
be again dismissed. He was a brave man, and possessed the courage
which, when occasion demands, can accept a duty like a man. After all,
was it not a blessing his cab had not come five minutes earlier than it
had? Suppose this poor sufferer had been left with no better guardian
than the brusque Mrs Phillips, with her scruples about "catching"
disorders?

The doctor's trap rattled up to the door at last. He was one of those
happy sons of Aesculapius who never pull long faces, but always say the
most alarming things in the most delightful way.

"Ah," said he, hardly glancing at the patient, and shaking hands airily
with Railsford, "this is a case of the master being kept in, and sending
to the doctor for his _exeat_, eh? Sorry I can't give it to you at
present, my dear fellow; rather a bad case."

"What is it?" asked Railsford.

"Our old friend, diphtheria; knowing young dog, to put it off till
breaking-up day. What an upset for us all if he'd come out with it
yesterday! Not profitable from my point of view, but I daresay the boys
will have it more comfortably at home than here, after all. This must
have been coming on for some time. How long has he been feverish?"

"I don't know. I only found him like this half an hour ago, and want
your advice what to do."

The doctor, almost for the first time, looked at the restless invalid on
the bed and hummed.

"Dr Ponsford has gone to the Isle of Wight, I hear," said he.

"I really don't know where he's gone," said Railsford impatiently.

"I wish _I_ could get a holiday. That's the worst of my kind of
doctor--people take ill so promiscuously. As sure as we say we'll go
off for a week, some aggravating patient spits blood and says, `No, you
don't.' I think you should send for this boy's mother, do you know."

"I don't know her address. Is he so very ill, then?"

"Well, of the two, I think you should telegraph rather than write. It
might be more satisfaction t