The heart of Traverse thrilled with joy. The Lord had remembered him!

His best skill spent upon the poor and needy who could make him no

return, but whose lives he had succeeded in saving, had reached the

ears of the celebrated Dr. C., who had with the unobtrusive magnanimity

of real genius quietly recommended him to his own patrons.

Oh! well, he would do his very best, not only to advance his own

professional interests, and to please his mother and Clara, but also to

do honor to the magnanimous Doctor C.'s recommendation!

Here, too, was an opportunity of putting in practise his favorite

theory; but first of all it was necessary to be informed of the

preceding mode of treatment and its results.

So he further questioned the little, restless magpie, and by

ingeniously framed inquiries succeeded in gaining from her the

necessary knowledge of his patient's antecedents. He examined all the

medicines that had been used, and informed himself of their effects

upon the disease. But the most serious difficulty of all seemed to be

the impossibility of raising vital action upon the cold, dead skin.

The chattering little woman informed him that the patient had been

covered with blisters that would not "pull," that would not

"delineate," that would not, what call you it--"draw!"

Traverse could easily believe this, for not only the skin, but the very

flesh of the old doctor seemed bloodless and lifeless.

Now for his theory! What would kill a healthy man with a perfect

circulation might save the life of this dying one, whose whole surface,

inch deep, seemed already dead.

"Put him in a bath of mustard water, as hot as you can bear your own

hand in and continue to raise the temperature slowly, watching the

effect, for about five minutes. I will go down and prepare a cordial

draught to be taken the moment he gets back to bed," said Doctor Rocke,

who immediately left the room.

His directions were all but too well obeyed. The bathing tub was

quickly brought into the chamber and filled with water as hot as the

nurse could bear her hand in, then the invalid was hastily invested in

a slight bathing gown and lifted by two servants and laid in the hot

bath.

"Now, bring quickly, water boiling," said the little, old woman,

imperatively. And when a large copper kettleful was forthcoming, she

took it and began to pour a stream of hissing, bubbling water in at the

foot of the bath.

The skin of the torpid patient had been reddening for a few seconds, so

as to prove that its sensibility was returning, and now when the stream

from the kettle began to mix with the already very hot bath, and to

raise its temperature almost to boiling, suddenly there was heard a cry

from the bath, and the patient, with the agility of youth and health,

skipped out of the tub and into his bed, kicking vigorously and

exclaiming: "Brigands! Assassins! You have scalded my legs to death!"




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