"Came staggering in, and just collapsed down there," continued her
father huskily. "Lord, I wouldn't lose that boy after this for a
million dollars!"
"Why do you talk that way?" she demanded sharply. "What has
happened? Did he faint?"
"Just collapsed. When I tried to rouse him, he kicked me in the
chest," replied the magnate, with somber seriousness.
"Oh, you goose of a dad!" There was a tremulous note in Polly's
low laughter. "That's all right, then. Can't you see he's dead for
sleep, poor beetle man?"
"Do you think so?" said Mr. Brewster, vastly relieved. "Hadn't I
better go out for a doctor, and make sure?"
She shook her head.
"Let him rest. Hand me that pillow, please, dad."
With soft little pushes and wedges she worked it under the
scientist's head. "What a dreadful botch of bandaging! He looks so
pale! I wonder if I couldn't get those cloths off. Lend me your
knife, dad."
Gently as she worked, the head on the pillow began to sway, and
the lips to move.
"Oh, let me alone!" they muttered querulously.
The eyes opened. The Unspeakable Perk gazed up into the faces
above him, but saw only one, a face whose tender concern softened
it to a loveliness greater even than when he had last seen it.
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