The Doctor is off his horse in a moment, and hounds and hunting are forgotten as he kneels by the side of the pale little face, supporting the lad's head on his breast, and feeling with professional skill for any injury.
"Stand back, gentlemen, please," he exclaims, as some of the field collect round. "Give the boy air. There's nothing wrong beyond a slight shock and a broken arm. Ah Boulter, don't be alarmed," as the Secretary rides up. "Get him in a cart, and drive him home. I'll be round and set his arm directly."
"I'm all right, uncle," says the nephew, who has revived after a pull at the Doctor's flask. "Let me go on."
"No, my boy, you can't go on. You've broken your arm, and will have to be quiet for a bit," replies Mr. Boulter.
"What a bore!" ejaculates the lad; but adds, with a twinkle in his eye, "You'll have to pay Doctor Wilson a fee after all, uncle."
Everybody laughs at this, and the Doctor mutters under his breath: "That's what I call pluck." Then, trotting off home to fetch his paraphernalia, he is at The Grange almost as soon as the invalid. After making him comfortable, the Doctor has to go off on other errands of mercy, and as he drives the seven miles to visit his next patient, he tells Thomas that he is sorry to have missed the end of the run, but if anything could repay him it is the amount of pluck shown by the Secretary's little nephew.
Once a year he takes a two months' holiday, in July and August, when he, together with three old college chums, may be seen clad in blue serge and drinking in great draughts of health on the deck of the yacht which belongs to the eldest of them. They generally wind up with a fortnight at the grouse, and then the Doctor returns to Bullshire with renewed life and with a fund of anecdote and adventures by sea and land, to hear him relate which is as good for a sick man as any of the prescriptions which he writes in his peculiarly neat handwriting.
Wherever he goes, castle or cottage, hall or homestead, his presence always cheers and lights up the sick-room, and Doctor Wilson's visit is looked forward to by the invalid as the pleasantest bit of his long day.
"Yes, sir, he's a niceish little horse, up to a goodish bit of weight too, and carries a lady. My daughter rides him often, and she says he's as handy as a kitten."