“I have just come from Mr. Eden. He sent for me.”
“What, isn't he well?”
“I wish he'd die! But there is no chance of that.”
“Well, there is always a chance of a man dying who has got a bilious fever.”
“Why you don't mean he is seriously ill?” cried Hawes in excitement.
“I don't say that, but he has got a sharp attack.”
Mr. Hawes examined the speaker's face. It was as legible as a book from the outside. He went from the subject to one or two indifferent matters, but he could not keep long from what was uppermost.
“Sawyer,” said he, “you and I have always been good friends.”
“Yes, Mr. Hawes.”
“I have never been hard upon you. You ought to be here every day, but the pay is small and I have never insisted on it, because I said he can't afford to leave patients that pay.”