"You did just right," Darrell answered, dashing away the ice from his face; "I only wish you had sent for me earlier—as soon as this happened. How is Mr. Underwood?"
"He is in pretty bad shape, but the doctors think he will pull through. They have been working over him all night, and he is getting so he can move the right hand a little, but the other side seems badly paralyzed."
"Is he conscious?"
"Yes, he moves his hand when we speak to him, but he looks so worried. That was one reason why I sent for you; I thought he would feel easier to know you were here."
As Darrell approached the bedside he was shocked at the changes wrought in so short a time in the stern, but genial face. It had aged twenty years, and the features, partially drawn to one side, had, as Mrs. Dean remarked, a strained, worried expression. The eyes of the sick man brightened for an instant as Darrell bent over him, assuring him that he would attend to everything, but the anxious look still remained.
"I don't know anything about David's business affairs," Mrs. Dean remarked, as she and Darrell left the room, "but I know as well as I want to that this was brought on by some business trouble. I am satisfied something was wrong at the office yesterday, though I wouldn't say so to any one but you."
"Why do you think so?" Darrell queried, in surprise.
"Because he was all right when he went away yesterday morning, but when he came home at noon he was different from what I had ever seen him before. He had just that worried look he has now, and he seemed absent-minded. He was in a great hurry to get back, and the head book-keeper tells me he called for the books to be brought into his private office, and that he spent most of the afternoon going through them. He says that about four o'clock he went through
the office, and David was sitting before his desk with his head on his hands, and he didn't speak or look up. A little while afterwards they heard the sound of something heavy falling and ran to his room, and he had fallen on the floor."