“And not a word of the serious nature of my illness must get into the papers. You will deny any rumour of that kind, should there be occasion. My stocks must not be affected—and they would be, and the whole list——”
“And the prosperity of the country,” said Hanbury.
This illness of mine, while primarily for smoothly carrying through Walter’s marriage, was really inspired by an actual physical need. I had long felt that the machine needed rest. The necessity of preventing Natalie from making a fool of herself gave me the opportunity to combine rest with accomplishment. Before shutting myself in I had put my affairs into such shape that my lieutenants and secretaries could look after them. I dozed and slept and listened to the nurse or Hanbury reading, or talked with Hanbury. The nurse had little to do—and I suspect could do little. What Hanbury did not do was done by my stupid old Pigott, half crazed with fear lest I should die and he should find that he was right in suspecting he had not been handsomely remembered in my will. Hanbury’s manner was so perfect that, had I not felt robustly well on long sleep, short diet, and no annoyances, I might have been convinced and badly frightened. My family—Hanbury managed to keep them from thinking it necessary to try to impress me with their affection for me by pretending wild alarm. He had most difficulty with poor little Helen—not so very little any more, though I think of her as a baby still. It’s astonishing how unspoiled she is—another proof of her unusuality.
On the third day Hanbury said: “Your wife tells me she must see you, and that, if she doesn’t, the wedding will surely be postponed.”
“It’s impossible to admit her—when I’m just entering the crisis,” replied I. “Tell her—you know how to do it—that, if Bradish acts up, she shall as a last resort go to Burridge, who will let him see my will. And can’t you call—don’t you think you had better call—some one—say Doctor Lowndes—in consultation?”
He reflected for several minutes. “I’ll call Lowndes,” he said. “You couldn’t possibly have picked out a better man.” And he looked at me with the admiration I deserved.
“Let Bradish know you’ve done it,” I added.
“Certainly,” he replied, in a tone which assured me he knew what to do at the right time.
Lowndes came—and went. A quarter of an hour before he came Hanbury gave me a dose of some strong-smelling, yellow-black medicine. The blood bounded through my arteries and throbbed with fierce violence in my veins; I sank into a sort of stupor. I dimly realised that another man was in the room with Hanbury and was making a hasty examination of me. It must have been an amusing farce. Lowndes indorsed Hanbury, and—yesterday I paid Lowndes’s bill for twelve hundred dollars.
I fell asleep while he was still solemnly studying Hanbury’s temperature chart. When I awoke the latter was reading by the shaded electric light on the night-stand. I felt somewhat dazed and tired, but otherwise extremely comfortable.