The Forsyte Saga, Volume 3(198)

‘Hell!’ muttered Wilfrid.

‘Hi! George! I found this gentleman on the road. He seems to have gone a bit wonky. Put him into some decent bedroom. Heat him up a good hot bottle, and get him into bed with it. Brew him some strong coffee, and see that he drinks it.’

The boots grinned. ‘That all?’

‘No; take his temperature, and send for a doctor. Look here, sir,’ the young man turned to Wilfrid, ‘I recommend this chap. He can polish boots with the best. Just let him do for you, and don’t worry. I must get on. It’s six o’clock.’ He waited a moment, watching Wilfrid stagger into the hotel on the arm of the ‘boots’, then sped away.

The ‘boots’ assisted Wilfrid to a room. ‘Can you undress, governor?’

‘Yes,’ muttered Wilfrid.

‘Then I’ll go and get you that bottle and the coffee. Don’t be afraid, we don’t ’ave damp beds ’ere. Were you out all night?’

Wilfrid sat on the bed and did not answer.

‘’Ere!’ said the ‘boots’: ‘give us your sleeves!’ He pulled Wilfrid’s coat off, then his waistcoat and trousers. ‘You’ve got a proper chill, it seems to me. Your underthings are all damp. Can you stand?’

Wilfrid shook his head.

The ‘boots’ stripped the sheets off the bed, pulled Wilfrid’s shirt over his head; then with a struggle wrenched off vest and drawers, and wrapped him in a blanket.

‘Now, governor, a good pull and a pull together.’ He forced Wilfrid’s head on to the pillow, heaved his legs on to the bed, and covered him with two more blankets.

‘You lie there; I won’t be gone ten minutes.’

Wilfrid lay, shivering so that his thoughts would not join up, nor his lips make consecutive sounds owing to the violent chattering of his teeth. He became conscious of a chambermaid, then of voices.

‘His teeth’ll break it. Isn’t there another place?’

‘I’ll try under his arm.’

A thermometer was pressed under his arm and held there.

‘You haven’t got yellow fever, have you, sir?’

Wilfrid shook his head.

‘Can you raise yourself, governor, and drink this?’

Robust arms raised him, and he drank.

‘One ’undred and four.’

‘Gawd! ’Ere, pop this bottle to his feet, I’ll phone the Doc.’

Wilfrid could see the maid watching him, as if wondering what sort of fever she was going to catch.

‘Malaria,’ he said, suddenly, ‘not infectious. Give me a cigarette! In my waistcoat.’

The maid put a cigarette between his lips and lit it. Wilfrid took a long pull.

‘A-again!’ he said.

Again she put it between his lips, and again he took a pull.

‘They say there’s mosquitoes in the forest. Did you find any last night, sir?’

‘In the sys-system.’

Shivering a little less now, he watched her moving about the room, collecting his clothes, drawing the curtains so that they shaded the bed. Then she approached him, and he smiled up at her.

‘Another nice drop of hot coffee?’

He shook his head, closed his eyes again, and shivered deep into the bed, conscious that she was still watching him, and then again of voices.

‘Can’t find a name, but he’s some sort of nob. There’s money and this letter in his coat. The doctor’ll be here in five minutes.’

‘Well, I’ll wait till then, but I’ve got my work to do.’

‘Same ’ere. Tell the missus when you call her.’

He saw the maid standing looking at him with a sort of awe. A stranger and a nob, with a curious disease, interesting to a simple mind. Of his face, pressed into the pillow, she couldn’t see much – one dark cheek, one ear, some hair, the screwed-up eye under the brow. He felt her touch his forehead timidly with a finger. Burning hot, of course!

‘Would you like your friends written to, sir?’

He shook his head.

‘The doctor’ll be here in a minute.’

‘I’ll be like this two days – nothing to be done – quinine – orange juice – ’ Seized by a violent fit of shivering, he was silent. He saw the doctor come in; and the maid still leaning against the chest of drawers, biting her little finger. She took it from her mouth, and he heard her say:

‘Shall I stay, sir?’

‘Yes, you can stay.’

The doctor’s fingers closed on his pulse, raised his eyelid, pushed his lips apart.

‘Well, sir? Had much of this?’

Wilfrid nodded.

‘All right! You’ll stay where you are, and shove in quinine, and that’s all I can do for you. Pretty sharp bout.’