Part 23 (1/2)
There're shoals of dead thorn-brush to the right of the pool.”
”Ah, yes; I fancy the vultures will be so vexed when they find your hedge in the way,” remarked Winthrope.
”My! how smart we're getting!” retorted Blake. ”Don't worry, though. We'll stow the stuff in Miss Jenny's boudoir, and I guess the birdies'll be polite enough to keep out.”
”I must say, Blake, I do not see why you should wish to drag us away from here.”
”There're lots of things you don't see, Win, me b'y--jokes, for instance. But what could you expect?--you're English. Now, don't get mad. Worst thing in the world for malaria.”
”One would fancy you could see that I am not angry. I've a splitting headache, and my back hurts. I am ill.”
Blake looked him over critically, and nodded. ”That's no lie, old man. You're ent.i.tled to a hospital check all right. Miss Jenny, we'll appoint you chief nurse. Make him comfortable as you can, and give him hot broth whenever he'll take it. You can do your sewing on the side.
Whenever you need help, call on me. I'm going to begin that barricade.”
CHAPTER XIV
FEVER AND FIRE AND FEAR
By nightfall Winthrope was tossing and groaning on the bed of leaves which Miss Leslie had heaped beneath his canopy. Though not delirious, his high temperature, coupled with the pains which racked every nerve and bone in his body, rendered him light-headed. He would catch himself up in the midst of some rambling nonsense to inquire anxiously whether he had said anything silly or strange. On being rea.s.sured upon this, he would relax again, and, as likely as not, break into a babyish wail over his aches and pains.
Blake shook his head when he learned that the attack had not been preceded by a chill.
”Guess he's in for a hot time,” he said. ”There is more'n one kind of malarial fever. Some are a whole lot like typhus.”
”Typhus? What is that?” asked Miss Leslie.
”Sort of rapid fire, double action typhoid. Not that I think Win's got it--only malaria. What gets me is that we've only been here these few days, and yet it looks like he's got the continuous, no-chill kind.”
”Then you think he will be very ill?”
”Well, I guess he'll think so. It ought to run out in a week or ten days, though. We've had good water, and it usually takes time for malaria to soak in deep. Now, don't worry, Miss Jenny. It'll do him no good, and you a lot of harm. Take things easy as you can, for you've got to keep up your strength. If you don't, you'll be down yourself before Win is up.”
”Ill while he is helpless and unable--? Oh, no; that cannot be! I must not give way to the fever until--”
”Don't worry. You'll likely stave it off for a couple of weeks or so.
You're lively yet, and that's a good sign. I knew Win was in for it when he began to grouch and loaf and do the baby act. I haven't much use for dudes in general, and English dudes in particular; but I'll admit that, while Win's soft enough in spots, he's not all mush and milk.”
”Thank you, Mr. Blake.”
”You're welcome. I couldn't say less, seeing that Win can't speak for himself. Now you tumble in and get a good sleep. I'll go on as night nurse, and work at the barricade same time. You're not going to do any night-nursing. I can gather the thorn-brush in the afternoons, and pile it up at night.”
In the morning Miss Leslie found that Blake had built a substantial canopy over the invalid, in place of the first ramshackle structure.
”It's best for him to be out in the air,” he explained; ”so I fixed this up to keep off the dew. But whenever it rains, we'll have to tote him inside.”
”Ah, yes; to be sure. How is he?” murmured the girl.
”He's about the same this morning. But he got a little sleep. Keep him dosed with all the hot broth he'll take. And say, roust me out at noon.