"And," said Waters, "didn't you whistle that piece, Listen to the Bobolink, fine?"
"Here, Sam," said he to a young fellow who appeared in sight, "show this gentleman up to Jim Sawyer's room; I'm getting kind of pussy, and I don't go upstairs much."
Sam performed his mission and Quincy was ushered into the room and found himself with the sick man.
"Is your name James Sawyer?" asked Quincy.
"Yes," said the man. "I used to be proud of it once."
"Did you have a brother?" asked Quincy.
"Well," said Jim, "I don't think he would be proud of me now, so I guess I won't claim any relationship."
Quincy stopped for a moment. Evidently the man's pride would keep him from telling anything about himself. He would try him on a new tack. The man had a long fit of coughing. When it had subsided, Quincy said, "It wearies you to talk. I will do the talking, and if what I say is true you can nod your head." Quincy continued, "Your name is James Edward Sawyer, your brother's name was Nathaniel." The man opened his eyes wide and looked steadfastly at him. "Your father, Edward Sawyer, left you fifty thousand dollars." The man clutched with both hands at the quilt on the bed. "You are about sixty years of age." The man nodded. "You married a young girl who lived in the country and took her to Boston with you; her maiden name was Eunice Raymond."
The man started up in bed, resting on his elbow. "How did you know all this?" asked he. "Who has told you this? Who are you?"
The exertion and the rapid speaking brought on another fit of coughing and he fell back on his pillow.