He must have fallen asleep, for it was night when Mimi rushed into the room and shook him until he was awake.
“Come quick, papa Jean! Mrs. Daquin is sick!” she urged.
Jean rushed downstairs. All the women had gone save Mrs. Adams, who had loosened Mrs. Daquin’s corsets and clothing.
“I think it’s indigestion,” was Mrs. Adams’ calm reply to Jean’s fearful questions. “Hilda’s telephoning for the doctor. You and Mimi help me get her upstairs.”
Jean was grateful for her cool command of the situation. They got Mrs. Daquin into bed before the doctor came. He came, examined, looked grave, then more cheerful. His orders were terse.
“Keep her quiet—hot applications—give this prescription every two hours—this one every four hours. Afraid all the drug stores round here are closed, so you’ll have to go down town—probably to Jacobs’—they stay open late.”
Mimi remembered the conversation with Jean as he started to leave the house.
“Wait a minute until I get my hat. I’m going with you,” she announced. He protested, told her she should remain at home with Mrs. Daquin.
“ Mrs. Adams and Hilda will stay. I’ve just asked them.”
She had returned, hat on, before he could answer. Realizing that further argument would be unavailing, he and Mimi set out for the distant drug store. …