“What in the name of thunder has come over you, Morrison?” he said. “Are you ill, or what is it?”
Morrison opened his lips—opened them twice—without any sort of sound issuing.
“This is absurd!” Laverick exclaimed protestingly. “I have been feeling worried myself, but there’s nothing so terrifying in losing one’s money, after all. As a matter of fact, things are altogether better in the city to-day. You made a big mistake in taking us out of our depth, but we are going to pull through, after all. ‘Unions’ have been going up all day.”
Laverick’s presence, and the sound of his even, matter-of-fact tone, seemed to act like a tonic upon his late partner. He made no reference, however, to Laverick’s words.
“You got my note?” he asked hoarsely.
“Naturally I got it,” Laverick answered impatiently, “and I came at once. Try and pull yourself together. Sit up and tell me what you are doing here, frightening your sister out of her life.”
Morrison groaned.
“I came here,” he muttered, “because I dared not go to my own rooms. I was afraid!”
Laverick struggled with the contempt he felt.
“Man alive,” he exclaimed, “what was there to be afraid of?”