and relapsed into his
restless sleep.

Mrs Phillips did not return till eight o'clock; and the doctor arrived
almost at the same time.

"Has he taken anything?" he inquired.

"Scarcely anything; he can hardly swallow."

"You'll have a night with him, I fancy. Keep the temperature of the
room up to sixty, and see he doesn't throw off his clothes. How old is
he--eighteen?--a great overgrown boy, six feet one or two, surely. It
goes hard with these long fellows. Give me your short, thick-set young
ruffian for pulling through a bout like this. Have you found out where
he lives?"

"No, I can't discover his address anywhere."

"Look in his Sunday hat. I always kept mine there when I was a boy, and
never knew a boy who didn't."

Branscombe, however, was an exception.

"Well," said the doctor, "it's a pity. A mother's the proper person to
be with him a time like this. She'll never-- What's this?"

It was an envelope slipped behind the bookcase, containing a bill from
Splicer, the London cricket-bat-maker, dated a year ago. At the foot
the tradesman had written, "Hon. sir, sorry we could not get bat in time
to send home, so forward to you direct to Grandcourt School, by rail."

"There we are," said the doctor, putting the document in his pocket.
"This ought to bring mamma in twenty-four hours. The telegraph office
is shut now, but we'll wake Mr Splicer up early, and have mamma under
weigh by midday. Good-night, Railsford--keep the pot boiling, my good
fellow--I'll look round early."

He was gone, and Railsford with sinking heart set himself to the task
before him. He long remembered that night. It seemed at first as if
the doctor's gloomy predictions were to be falsified, for Branscombe
continued long in a half-slumber, and even appeared to be more tranquil
than he had been during the afternoon.

Railsford sat near the fire and watched him; and for two hours the
stillness of the room was only broken by the lively ticking of the
little clock on the mantelpiece, and the laboured breathing of the
sufferer.

He was nearly asleep when a cry from the bed suddenly roused him.

"Clip!" called the invalid.

Railsford went to his side and quietly replaced the covering which had
been tossed aside.

"Clip! look alive--he's coming--don't say a word, hang on to his legs,
you know--_En jam tempus erat_--Munger, you cad, why don't you come?
_Italiam fato profugus_. Hah! got you, my man. Shove him in, quick!