He had never felt such a strong impulse of generosity. He gave the young man a five-pound note, saying as he did so: “You can divide with your chum.”
The young man had arisen and put on his hat. His hand went to the brim by way of salute. “He’ll be glad to git it, for the loss of the boat’ll come hard on him. I told him before I started as how I thought I’d find you to be a gentleman, cuz the ladies wuz so fine.”
Mr. Glynne rang for Brinkley and told him to supply the man with a substantial meal before he started on his journey back to Pagham.
Five pounds! But the news was surely worth that and more.
“A great sorrow for Clarence, but such a solace for me,” was Thomas Glynne’s uppermost thought. The fortune was now his, if Clarence would hold his tongue.
His son’s sickness, the grave nature of which had led him to assure Mr. Jubb that he could not see him, did not keep Mr. Glynne from breaking the news at the earliest opportunity. He had not anticipated the result which followed. Perhaps, if he had, he would have told the story in a gentler manner.
Clarence was prostrated by the intelligence. By midnight his condition was so alarming that Brinkley was obliged to start off in the darkness to bring a doctor.
Brain fever, was the physician’s decision after he had made his diagnosis. Compared with many others, Clarence was a weak man both physically and mentally. He had been on the rack for twenty-four hours, and this great blow was more than he could bear. His brain gave way and he lay there with only the ministrations of the hired nurses, growing thinner and weaker every day.
Did his father wish him to live? Only the Great Power that knows all hearts could have answered that question.