I know a first-class gout doctor in London; he has
cured it more than once. I'll wire him down this minute; you'll dispatch
the message, and I'll go to my father."
The message was sent, and when the Colonel awoke from an uneasy slumber
he saw his son at the foot of the bed, gazing piteously at him.
"My dear boy," said he, faintly, and held out a wasted hand. Walter was
pricked to the heart at this greeting: not a word of remonstrance at
his absence.
"I fear you missed me, father," said he, sadly.
"That I have," said the old man; "but I dare say you didn't forget me,
though you weren't by my side."
The high-minded old soldier said no more, and put no questions, but
confided in his son's affection, and awaited the result of it. From that
hour Walter Clifford nursed his father day and night. Dr. Garner arrived
next day. He examined the patient, and put a great many questions as to
the history and progress of the disorder up to that date, and inquired
in particular what was the length of time the fits generally endured.
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