"What a bother, C. J.! There was something else I meant to tell you; must you scoot? Then come up after the umpires have been, and tell me what they say—yourself. You sha'n't go till you promise!"
VI
When C. J. returned, the sun shone into the room no more; it was afternoon.
Kenyon was very white.
"Well?"
"Kenyon, they don't know!"
"But they're still in the house. Why haven't they gone? What are they waiting for? Tell me, C. J. You said you'd tell me!"
"Poor old Kenyon—dear old fellow!" faltered Forrester. "I promised to tell you, I know I did, and downstairs they've asked me to. Now you'll never feel it, Kenyon. They're going to do something which may make you better. You—you'll be put to sleep—you'll never feel a thing!"
"When is it to be?"
"This afternoon—very soon."