"
Paloma was in the carriage at Dave's side now, and calling his
name; but Law, it seemed, was scarcely conscious. He had slumped
together; his face was vacant, his eyes dull. He was muttering to
himself a queer, delirious jumble of words.
"Oh, Dad! He's sick--sick," Paloma sobbed. "Dave, don't you know
us? You're home, Dave. Everything is--all right now."
"Why, you'd hardly recognize the boy!" Blaze exclaimed; then he
added his appeal to his daughter's. But they could not arouse the
sick man from his coma.
"He asked me to take him to Las Palmas," Strange explained. "Looks
to me like a sunstroke. You'd ought to hear him rave when he gets
started."
Paloma turned an agonized face to her father. "Get a doctor,
quick," she implored; "he frightens me."
But Mrs. Strange had followed, and now she spoke up in a matter-
of-fact tone: "Doctor nothing," she said. "I know more than all
the doctors. Paloma, you go into the house and get a bed ready for
him, and you men lug him in. Come, now, on the run, all of you!
I'll show you what to do." She took instant charge of the
situation, and when Dave refused to leave the carriage and began
to fight off his friends, gabbling wildly, it was she who quieted
him.
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