His father was sitting up in bed.

Mrs.
Ginnell had been endeavouring during the past hour to make her patient clean and comfortable, and to tidy his room; but had been at last obliged to desist, owing to the mixture of ill-humour and bad language with which he assailed her.
"Can I do anything for you ?" Anderson inquired, standing beside him.
"Get me out of this blasted hole as soon as possible! That's about all you can do! I've told that woman to get me my things, and help me into the other room--but she's in your pay, I suppose.

She won't do anything I tell her, drat her!" "The doctor left orders you were to keep quiet to-day." McEwen vowed he would do nothing of the kind.

He had no time to be lolling in bed like a fine lady.

He had business to do, and must get home.
"If you get up, with this fever on you, and the leg in that state, you will have blood-poisoning," said Anderson quietly, "which will either kill you or detain you here for weeks.