However it might have been, in
a few days after that Pike was found to be suffering from the fever.
Whether he would have died, lying alone in that shed, Calne did not
decide; and some thought he would, making no sign; some thought not, but
would have called in assistance. Mr. Hillary, an observant man, as
perhaps it was requisite he should be in time of public danger, halted
one morning to speak to Clerk Gum, who was standing at his own gate.
"Have you seen anything lately of that neighbour of yours, Gum?"
"Which neighbour?" asked the clerk, in tones that seemed to resent the
question.
Mr. Hillary pointed his umbrella in the direction of the shed. "Pike."
"No, I've seen nothing of him, that I remember."
"Neither have I. What's more, I've seen no smoke coming out of the
chimney these two days. It strikes me he's ill. It may be the fever."
"Gone away, possibly," remarked the clerk, after a moment's pause; "in
the same unceremonious manner that he came."
"I think somebody ought to see. He may be lying there helpless."
"Little matter if he is," growled the clerk, who seemed put out about
something or other.
"It's not like you to say so, Gum. You might step over the stile and see;
you're nearest to him. Nobody knows what the man is, or what he may have
been; but humanity does not let even the worst die unaided."
"What makes you think he has the fever?" asked the clerk.
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