We haven't seen much of Monsieur lately. Louis says he hasn't been well. This climate doesn't agree with him, and he has rheumatism and gout, and has caught a dreadful cold. I don't see why he stays here, if it makes him so miserable. Anyhow, he was in such bad shape that he decided to go to New York to spend a few days at a sanitarium, and Miss Yvonne had to take him there, for he was too sick to go alone. He went yesterday, and last night a queer thing happened. Carol told me about it this afternoon, giving the account as Louis told it to her while coming home from school on the trolley.
It seems that he and his uncle were sitting downstairs in the living-room when, about nine o'clock, they heard a dreadful crash upstairs, directly over their heads. They couldn't think what in the world it could be, and were so startled that neither of them moved or spoke for a moment. Then Louis jumped up, exclaiming:
"Something's the matter in Monsieur's room! That's right overhead. I'll go up and see."
At first his uncle didn't seem to want him to go, saying he'd rather go himself. But as he's very feeble and doesn't go upstairs often (his bedroom is on the lower floor), Louis wouldn't hear of it and insisted that at least they go together. So up they went.
When they reached Monsieur's room and struck a light, they saw that the picture of the boy had fallen to the floor and that the glass was broken. Evidently, the wire by which it was hung had become rusty and given way, for the picture is very heavy. Louis didn't think much of the occurrence. He merely remarked that he'd clean up the broken glass and get a glazier to come in the morning and put in a new one. Also, he said he'd get some new wire and rehang it.
But for some unknown reason old Mr. Meadows was nearly wild. He stood and wrung his hands, and walked up and down, as if something perfectly awful had happened. Louis couldn't make out what in the world was the matter with him. Finally he said:
"It's all right, Uncle. What are you so excited about? I'm going to have it all fixed up to-morrow. It will be as good as ever. The picture itself isn't damaged a bit."
But even then his uncle couldn't seem to calm down, and all Louis could get from him was this remark, repeated over and over:
"'Tis an evil omen! An unfortunate sign! On no account must Monsieur know of it!"