Peter stood for an instant looking about him, his mind taking in
the situation. Ruth was being cared for now, and so was
MacFarlane--the white cap and apron of the noiseless nurse passing
in and out of the room in which he lay, assured him of that.
Bolton, too, in the room next to Jack's, was being looked after by
his sister who had just arrived. He, too, was fairly comfortable,
though a couple of his fingers had been shortened. But there was
nobody to look after Jack--no father, mother, sister--nobody. To
send for the boy's uncle, or Corinne, or his aunt, was out of the
question, none of them having had more than a word with him since
his departure. Yet Jack needed attention. The doctor had just
pulled him out of one fainting spell only to have him collapse
again when his coat was taken off, and the bandages were loosened.
He was suffering greatly and was by no means out of danger.
If for the next hour or two there was anything to be done at
MacFarlane's, Peter was ready to do it, but this accomplished, he
would shoulder his bag and camp out for the night beside the boy's
bed.
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