Presently her uncle roused himself up, and asked for something to eat or drink.
'Are you feeling better?' she asked, as she shook up his pillows, and did other little things to make him comfortable.
'No; there's a load lying here,' he answered, touching his chest, 'which presses down to the grave. If they can't do something to remove that, I'm a dead man. No word of that young upstart doctor yet?'
'Not yet. Shall I send for him, uncle?'
'No, no; he'll come sure enough, and fast enough—oftener than he's wanted,' he answered. 'Who was that at the door?'
'Walter's father.'
'Eh? Walter's father? What did he want? Is he smelling round too, to see if he can get anything?' he said querulously. 'When you've given me that tea, I wish you to take my keys from my coat pocket and go up to the safe. When you've opened it, you'll find an old pocket-book, tied with a red string. I want you to bring it down to me.'
'Very well.'
Gladys did exactly as she was bid, and, leaving the old man at his slender breakfast, ran up to the warehouse. To her surprise, she found Walter, usually so active and so energetic, sitting on the office stool with his arms folded, and his face wearing a look of deepest gloom. Some new trouble had come to him, that was apparent to her at once.
'Why, Walter, how troubled you look! No bad news from home, I hope?'