“I remember now that I sent for you,” Morrison continued. “Tell me, has any one been around at the office asking after me?”
“No one particular,” Laverick answered,—“no one at all that I can think of. There were one or two inquiries through the telephone, but they were all ordinary business matters.”
The man on the bed drew a little breath which sounded like a sigh of relief.
“I have made a fool of myself, Laverick,” he said hoarsely.
“You are making a worse one of yourself by lying here and giving way,” Laverick declared, “besides frightening your sister half to death.”
Morrison passed his hand across his forehead.
“We talked—some time ago,” he went on, “about my getting away. You promised that you would help me. You said that I could get off to Africa or America to-morrow.”
“Not the slightest difficulty about that,” Laverick answered. “There are half-a-dozen steamers sailing, at least. At the same time, I suppose I ought to remind you that the firm is going to pull through. Mind—don’t take this unkindly but the truth is best—I will not have you back again. There may have to be a more definite readjustment of our affairs now, but the old business is finished with.”
“I don’t want to come back,” Morrison murmured. “I have had enough of the city for the rest of my life. I’d rather get away somewhere and make a fresh start. You’ll help me, Laverick, won’t you?”
“Yes, I will help you,” Laverick promised.