The two men lifted the cripple in, amid the outcries and
lamentations of the aged woman, who had looked at his face and
then covered her own. At once they were surrounded by a swarm of
women and children, who pressed upon them, hampering their
movements, until a shrill voice cried:--
"La muerte negra!"
The swarm fell into silence, scattered, vanished, leaving only the
moaning woman to help. At her direction they settled the patient
on a straw pallet in a side room.
"That's all you can do," said the Unspeakable Perk to his
companion. "And thank you."
"I'll stay."
The goggles gloomed upon him in the dim room.
"I thought probably you would," commented Perkins, and busied
himself over the cripple with a knife and some cloths. He had
stuffed his ludicrous white gloves into his pocket, and was
tearing strips from his handkerchief with skillful fingers.
"Oughtn't he to have a doctor?" asked Carroll. "Shall I go for
one?"
"His mother has sent. No use, though."
"He can't be saved?"
"Not a chance on earth. I should say he was in the last stages."
"What is it?" said Carroll hesitantly.
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