Wild horses should not drag him out on such a night!
Thrusting his arms into the sleeves of his dressing-gown, he threw up
the parlour window. "Who's there?" The hiss of the rain cut his words
through.
A figure on the doorstep turned at the sound. "Is this a doctor's? I wuz
sent here. Doctor! for God's sake . . ."
"What is it? Stop a minute! I'll open the door."
He did so, letting in a blast of wind and a rush of rain that flooded
the oilcloth. The intruder, off whom the water streamed, had to shout to
make himself audible.
"It's me--Mat Doyle's me name! It's me wife, doctor; she's dying. I've
bin all night on the road. Ah, for the love of--"
"Where is it?" Mahony put his hand to the side of his mouth, to keep his
words from flying adrift in the wind.
"Paddy's Rest. You're the third I've bin to. Not one of the dirty
dogs'ull stir a leg! Me girl may die like a rabbit for all they care."--
The man's voice broke, as he halloed particulars.
"Paddy's Rest? On a night like this? Why, the creek will be out."
"Doctor! you're from th' ould country, I can hear it in your lip.
Haven't you a wife, too, doctor? Then show a bit o' mercy to mine!"
"Tut, tut, man, none of that!" said Mahony curtly. "You should have
bespoken me at the proper time to attend your wife.--Besides, there'll
be no getting along the road to-night."
The other caught the note of yielding. "Sure an' you'd go out, doctor
dear, without thinkin', to save your dog if he was drownin'.
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