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.

"There he is before you," replied a sharp-faced young doctor, pointing
to a benevolent looking old gentleman.

"Dr. Turnbull, there's a young feller hurt dreadful out our way. His
leg's broke. Guess he's hurt inside too. And he's a stranger. His folks
are all in Scotland. Guess he's dyin', and I've got--I've got a horse
and buggy at the door. I can git you out and back in a jiffy. Say,
doctor, I'm all ready to start."

A smile passed over the faces of the group. But Dr. Turnbull had too
long experience with desperate cases and with desperate men.

"My dear Sir," he replied, "I cannot go for some hours."

"Doctor, I want you now. I got to have somebody right now."

"A broken leg?" mused the doctor.

"Yes, and hurt inside."

"How did it happen?" said the doctor.

"Eh? I don't know exactly," replied Sam, taken somewhat aback.
"Somethin' fell on him. But he needs you bad."

"I can't go, my man, but we'll find some one. What's his name did you
say?"

"His name is Cameron, and he's from Scotland."

"Cameron?" said the sharp-faced young doctor. "What does he look like?"

"Look like?" said Sam in a perplexed voice. "Well, the girls all think
he looks pretty good. He's dark complected and he's a mighty smart young
feller. Great on jumpin' and runnin'. Say, he's a crackajack. Why, at
the Dominion Day picnic! But you must a' heard about him. He's the chap,
you know, that won the hundred yards. Plays the pipes and--"

"Plays the pipes?" cried Dr. Turnbull and the young doctor together.

"And his name's Cameron?" continued the young doctor. "I wonder now
if--"

"I say, Martin," said Dr. T