In spite of the sal-volatile these terrible spasms seized him every half
hour; and now he used to spring off the bed with a cry of terror when
they came; and each one left him weaker and weaker; he had to be carried
back by the women.

A sad, sickening fear seized on Phoebe. She left Dick with the maid, and
tying on her bonnet in a moment, rushed wildly down the street, asking
the neighbors for a great doctor, the best that could be had for money.
One sent her east a mile, another west, and she was almost distracted,
when who should drive up but Dr. and Mrs. Staines, to make purchases.
She did not know his name, but she knew he was a doctor. She ran to the
window, and cried, "Oh, doctor, my brother! Oh, pray come to him. Oh!
oh!"

Dr. Staines got quickly, but calmly, out; told his wife to wait; and
followed Phoebe up-stairs. She told him in a few agitated words how Dick
had been taken, and all the symptoms; especially what had alarmed her
so, his springing off the bed when the spasm came.

Dr. Staines told her to hold the patient up. He lost not a moment, but
opened his mouth resolutely, and looked down.

"The glottis is swollen," said he: then he felt his hands, and said,
with the grave, terrible calm of experience, "He is dying."

"Oh, no! no! Oh, doctor, save him! save him!"

"Nothing can save him, unless we had a surgeon on the spot. Yes, I might
save him, if you have the courage: opening his windpipe before the next
spasm is his one chance."