"His name is James, sir; same as mine," answered Jake, panting a little from the exertion of swallowing. "The wife, she has called him 'Dor' for 'dear,' and I've fell into it. She has called me Jake all along." Tod felt something ought to be done to help him, but he had no more idea what than the man in the moon. I had less. As Dor piloted us to the open street, we asked him where his mother was. It was one of her working-days out, he answered; she was always kept late. "Could he drink wine, do you think, Dor?" "The gentleman said he was to have it," answered Dor, alluding to the doctor. "How old are you, Dor?" "I'm anigh ten." He did not look it. "Johnny, I wonder if there's any place where they sell beef-tea?" cried Tod, as we went up Broad Street. "My goodness! lying there in that state, with no help at hand!" "I never saw anything so bad before, Tod." "Do you know what I kept thinking of all the time? I could not get it out of my head." "What?" "Of Lazarus at the rich man's gate. Johnny, lad, there seems an awful responsibility lying on some of us." To hear Tod say such a thing was stranger than all. He set off running, and burst into our sitting-room in the Star, startling the Pater, who was alone and reading one of the Worcester papers with his spectacles on. Tod sat down and told him all. "Dear me! dear me!" cried the Pater, growing red as he listened. "Why, Joe, the poor fellow must be dying!" "He may not have gone too far for recovery, father," was Tod's answer. "If we had to lie in that close hole, and had nothing to eat or drink, we should probably soon become skeletons also. He may get well yet with proper care and treatment." "It seems to me that the first thing to be done is to get him into the Infirmary," remarked the Pater. "And it ought to be done early to-morrow morning, sir; if it's too late to-night." The Pater got up in a bustle, put on his hat, and went out. He was going to his old friend, the famous surgeon, Henry Carden. Tod ran after him up Foregate Street, but was sent back to me. We stood at the door of the hotel, and in a few moments saw them coming along, the Pater arm-in-arm with Mr. Carden. He had come out as readily to visit the poor helpless man as he would to visit a rich one. Perhaps more so. They stopped when they saw us, and Mr. Carden asked Tod some of the particulars. "You can get him admitted to the Infirmary at once, can you not?" said the Pater, impatiently, who was all on thorns to have something done. "By what I can gather, it is not a case for the Infirmary," was the answer of its chief surgeon. "We'll see." Down we went, walking fast: the Pater and Mr. Carden in front, I and Tod at their heels; and found the room again with some difficulty. The wife was in then, and had made a handful of fire in the grate. What with the smoke, and what with the other agreeable accompaniments, we were nearly stifled.