"Ice, damn you! Send to the nearest pub. And telephone at once for a doctor."
"But we have no telephone . . ."
"Hell!
Where is the nearest telephone?"
"At Massmann's."
"Go.
Quick! Run!
Telephone the nearest doctor.
What is his name?
Where does he live?"
Before she could answer I had pushed her out.
"Quick, quick, run, as quick as you can.
How far is it?"
"Three minutes," said the woman and hurried out.
"Bring some ice with you," I called after her. She nodded and ran.
I fetched more water and dipped the towel again. I did not dare to disturb Pat.
I did not know whether she was lying properly or not; I was desperate because I did not know the one thing I ought to have known—whether to put pillows under her head, or lie her flat.
She choked, then lifted herself and a shot of blood welled from her mouth.
Her breath came high and wailing, her eyes were filled with terror, she swallowed and choked and coughed, and again the blood spouted. I held her tight, passing an arm under her shoulders. I felt the quaking of her poor, tortured back—it seemed to last endlessly.
Then she fell back limp . . .
Fraulein Muller came in.
She looked at me like a ghost.
"What must we do?" I shouted.
"The doctor's coming at once," she whispered. "Ice . . . on her chest—and in her mouth, if you can . . ."
"Sit her up or lie her down? My God, can't you talk a bit quicker?"
"As she is, let her lie—he's coming at once."
I packed pieces of ice on Pat's chest, relieved at last to have something to do. I broke the ice up small for compresses and put them on, and all the time saw only the sweet, dear, tortured lips, the lips, the bleeding lips . . .
There, the rattle of a motor-bike.
I jumped up.
The doctor.
"Can I help?" I asked.
He shook his head and unpacked his case.
I stood at the bed beside him, gripping the posts.
He looked up.
I stepped back, strll keeping my eye upon him.
He looked at Pat's ribs.
Pat groaned.
"Is it dangerous?" I asked.
"Where was your wife being treated?" he replied.
"What? Treated?" I stammered. "What doctor?" he asked impatiently.
"I don't know . . ." I answered. "No, I know nothing . . . I don't believe . . ."
He looked at me.
"But you must know."
"But I don't know.
She never said anything about it to me."
He bent over Pat and asked.
She tried to answer.
But again the red coughing broke through.
The doctor lifted her.
She bit the air and drew a long piping breath.