As to my patient, his temperature had already risen a degree and a half. Something was at work—somewhere. Where?
It was a curious waiting for a day or two, Brown. I knew that a determination must arise, but was helpless to say what. I only saw the little woman just to dress her badly scalded hand, and, when I got a chance, to reprimand her severely for taking so drastic a course.
"I promised you, dear," she said, "and I meant to keep my word thoroughly."
On the third day Manne-Martyn became delirious and so seriously ill that his mother demanded a consultation.
We got Hubert Harrison, of Harley Street, but as I told him beforehand about the hasheesh and the alcohol he did not bother himself. In fact asked me what I would like him to say.
"He's certainly going to die, is he not?" I suggested.
"Most certainly," answered the specialist. "It looks like acute meningitis."
"Then tell them straight out," I said. "And mention that I could not, in your opinion, have done anything more."
"Of course, of course," replied the great
