"Hello, Young Nevada!" was his breezy greeting. "What new disease have you introduced into our valley? Reuben, my good fellow, hand me my bag."
It was brought.
"You feel as if you'd been licked, my boy," he said gaily as he felt the swollen glands in Hernando's throat. "Been among the miners lately?"
"No. Uncle warned me that many were sick with diphtheria."
"All the same, you have a suspicious-looking throat, my boy," replied the doctor gravely.
"Do you think it diphtheria?" Hernando inquired anxiously.
Dr. Brinton looked puzzled. Plainly this was not diphtheria, as during the night his temperature must undoubtedly have been high.
"A nasty throat, but what the deuce is the matter with the boy anyway!" he inwardly commented, then turning to Hernando said, "Your throat looks uncommonly like it, but your symptoms are not all such. Never
