Tom Anderson, Dare-Devil: A Young Virginian in the Revolution — page 349: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

AN INDIAN SECRET 329 worked like beavers. Tulloch, too excited to be of use, was pacing the room, in tremendous agitation. The first audible word came from Macglashan. “Marquis, get this domned bed-curtain out 0’ my way,”’ wadding up the rich damask. De la Jonquiére, still wearing his sword, was kneeling on the floor enveloping Dick’s feet in hot blankets. The color came and went in his face; his curling, pearl-powdered hair clung to his forehead in tendrils. Pomeroy was trying to administer stimulants. Tom was making mustard-plas- ters — to the music of “Mrs. McLeod’s Reel,” for just at his elbow, on a little inlaid table, a music-box tinkled insistent, attenuated tunes. He wound a mustard- plaster round Dick’s wrist. Nabob Knatchbull needed all the help these willing hands could give. “How now?” queried Dr. Pomeroy, sharply. “A bit stronger,’ came from the custodian of that fee- ble pulse. Tulloch tramped up and down like a caged tiger. The rest worked on furiously. Another five minutes! Macglashan raised his head. “‘Coming round!”’ Every man of ’em gave a gasp of relief. Tom wondered whether Tulloch’s distress was more due to his friend’s danger than to his friend’s failure “to come to time.’ One thing Tom had observed: Knatchbull’s friends stuck to him “through thick and foo. The Marquis — always privileged — was the first to probe the mystery. “Was it a seizure, Mac?” siNa, na! Seizure? Why, Dick’s as strong as a bull. He’s a well mon this minute; I mean he will be when he comes round. But I’m no saying that if we had been twa minutes later getting doun to our wark wi’ him, he’d ever hae come roun’ in God’s warld. For he wad hae been dead as a door-nail!”’ “That I’ll swear,” said Pomeroy, quietly. CORNICLMOO® SS (C©) mn