When Mr. Evringham returned from the city, his first question, as Zeke met him, was concerning Jewel.
“Mother says she's slept the most of the day,” replied the coachman, his head stiff in his high collar and his eyes looking straight ahead.
“H'm. A good sign does she think, or is it stupor?”
“I couldn't say, sir.”
Reaching the house, a long pasteboard box in his hands, Mr. Evringham found that his grandchild was still asleep.
“I fear the worst, Mrs. Forbes,” he said with nervous curtness. “When a stupor attacks children it is a very bad sign I am told. I'll just ring up Ballard.”
He did so, but the doctor had gone out and was intending to call at the park before he returned.
“I really think it is all right, Mr. Evringham,” said Mrs. Forbes, distressed by her employer's uneasiness. “Dr. Ballard expected she'd sleep a great deal. He told me not to disturb her.”
“Oh, very well then, perhaps it is not to be regretted. Kindly put those roses in the deep vase, Mrs. Forbes.”
“Yes, sir.” She took up the box. “Besides, Mr. Evringham, if she does get worse, you know the hospital here is one of the very best, and you”—