"Oh," she said impulsively, "I am so sorry."
Not till he was about to leave her did she manage to ask the question that had been uppermost in her mind since his entrance.
He paused--somewhat unwillingly, she thought.
"Is he"--she hesitated--"is he very bad?"
"He isn't going to die, if that is what you mean," said Curtis.
"Please tell me!" she urged rather faintly. "I want to know."
With the air of a man submitting to the inevitable Curtis proceeded to inform her.
"He is lying in the loft over the stable, like a sick dog. He is rather badly mauled, and whimpers a good deal. I shall take him some soup across presently, but I don't suppose he'll touch it."
"Ok, dear!" she said. "What shall you do then?"
"Mercer will have to lend a hand if I can't manage him," Curtis answered. "But I shall do my best."
When she saw him again she asked anxiously for news; but he had none of a cheering nature to give her. Beelzebub would not look at food.
"I knew he wouldn't," he said. "He has been like this before."
"It's Mercer's way. He regards the boy as his own personal property, and so he is, more or less. He picked him up in the bush when he wasn't more than a few days old. The mother was dead. Mercer took him, and he was brought up among the farm men. He's a queer young animal, more like a dog than a human being. He needs hammering now and then. I kick him occasionally myself. But Mercer goes too far."
"Oh, it was some neglect of the horses. I don't know exactly what. Mercer isn't precisely patient, you know. And when the fellow gets thoroughly scared he's like a rabbit; he can't move. Mercer thinks him obstinate, and the rest follows as a natural consequence. I must ask you to excuse me. I have work to do."
"One moment!" Sybil laid a nervous hand on his arm. "Mr. Curtis, if--if you can't persuade the poor boy to take any food, how will my husband do so?"
"He won't," said Curtis. "He'll hold him down while I drench him, that's all."
"That must be very bad for him," she said.
"Of course it is. But we can't let him die, you know." He looked at her suddenly. "Don't you worry yourself, Mrs. Mercer," he said kindly. "He isn't quite the same as a white man, though it may offend your Western prejudices to hear me say so. Beelzebub will pull through all right. They are wonderfully tough, these chaps."