It was Newton's little sister who asked the question, her facial expression evincing appreciation of Newton's efforts in the line of groans, somewhat touched with awe. Even though regarded as a pure matter of make-believe, such sounds were terrible.
"Oh, sister, sister!" howled Newton, "run and tell 'em that brother's dying!"
Fanny disappeared in a manner which expressed her balanced feelings--she felt that her brother was making believe, but she believed for all that, that something awful was the matter. So she went rather slowly to the kitchen door, and casually remarked that Newton was dying on the sofa in the sitting-room.
"Why, Fanny!" said her mother--and ran into the sitting-room--whence in a moment, with a cry that was almost a scream, she summoned her husband, who responded at the top of his speed.
Newton was groaning and in convulsions. Horrible grimaces contorted his face, his jaws were set, his arms and legs drawn up, and his muscles tense.
"What's the matter?" His father's voice was stern as well as full of anxiety. "What's the matter, boy?"
"Newtie, Newtie!" cried his mother, "where are you in pain? Tell mother, Newtie!"
"Oh," groaned Newtie, relaxing, "I feel awful!"
"What you been eating?" interrogated his father.
"I saw you eatin' dinner," said his father.
Again Newton was convulsed by strong spasms, and again his groans filled the hearts of his parents with terror.
"That's all I've eaten," said he, when his spasms had passed, "except a few raisins. I was putting strychnine in 'em----"
"Oh, heavens!" cried his mother. "He's poisoned! Drive for the doctor, Ezra! Drive!"
Mr. Bronson forgot all about the election--forgot everything save antidotes and speed. He leaped toward the door. As he passed out, he shouted "Give him an emetic!" He tore the hitching straps from the posts, jumped into the buggy and headed for the road. Skilfully avoiding an overturn as he rounded into the highway, he gave the spirited horses their heads, and fled toward town, carefully computing the speed the horses could make and still be able to return. Mile after mile he covered, passing teams, keeping ahead of automobiles and advertising panic. Just at the town limits, he met the doctor in Sheriff Dilly's automobile, the sheriff himself at the steering wheel. Mr. Bronson signaled them to stop, ignoring the fact that they were making similar signs to him.