The doctor's little square satchel of instruments, vials, and bandages lay open on the table; he had changed the apartment as utterly as he had changed his face by putting on great, horn-rimmed spectacles.

They gave an owl-like look to him, an air of omniscience.

It seemed as if no mortal ailment could persist in the face of such wisdom.
"Well ?" whispered Drew.
"You can speak out, but not loudly," said the doctor calmly.

"He's delirious; the fever is getting its hold." "What do you think ?" "Nothing.

The time hasn't come for thinking." He bent his emotionless eye closer on the big rancher.
"You," he said, "ought to be in bed this moment." Drew waved the suggestion aside.
"Let me give you a sedative," added Young.
"Nonsense.