How are the other Slowburgh
boys?"
"They're all right, except my cousin Tom. He's down sick with
something. He's run about a little too much. He always was a-sparking.
He never knowed how to take care of himself. Jim Thomson was wounded
once, but he's all right now. We've all had fever, but that's over too.
But the fire's spreading, sir; we'd better get out of this."
As he spoke a heavy charred beam fell just in front of him, and the end
of it came down with its full weight on Sam's leg, snapping the bone in
two near the ankle. The foot lay at right angles, and the bone
protruded. Several soldiers lifted the log and Thatcher drew Sam out,
and they bore him in haste out of the building. He was laid on the
ground quite unconscious, at some distance from the temple, while the
flames roared and leaped toward heaven, wrapping the graceful, lofty
nine-story pagoda in their folds. It was in a beautiful garden that he
lay, near a pool filled with lotus flowers and at the end of a rustic
bridge. The air was heavy with the perfume of lilies. A surgeon was
called, and before long he was able to put the foot in place, but only
after sawing off a large piece of bone. A cart was obtained, Sam was
laid in it, a bottle of whisky was poured down his throat, and the
journey to the city began. The patient on coming to himself experienced
no pain. The liquor he had taken made him feel supremely happy.
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