When I came down again to the dining-room the doctor was standing with his back to the fire, looking still, as I thought, a little distrait.
But he brightened up at once, and saying: “I’m sure you must be hungry after your long journey,” he rang the bell for dinner.
It was brought in by the housekeeper in response to the summons, and shortly after Terry appeared dressed in the orthodox waiter fashion.
Our talk during dinner was chiefly about old times and old acquaintances. The wine, which was excellent, was done full justice to by both of us, and by the time dinner was over we were in the best possible humour with ourselves and all the world.
Then when the cloth had been removed, and Terry brought in the “materials,” the doctor set himself to brew two stiff tumblers of punch. This task accomplished, we lit our pipes, and as often happens with smokers, we relapsed for a while into silence.
We were rudely interrupted by Terry, who pushed in the door without knocking, and who cried out excitedly:
“Doctor! doctor! you’re wanted. Michael Cassidy’s cart is overturned at the trough below, God save us from all harm, although the horse was only walking, and he’s lying under it, and his boy, who was along with him, has come up for you.”
“Get the lamp at once, Terry, and Jack,” said the doctor, addressing me, “on with your coat, I may need your help.”
In a few seconds, preceded by Terry with the lamp, and accompanied by Cassidy’s boy, we were hurrying down to the scene of the accident.
We found the cart upset in the middle of the road, and lying across the body of poor Cassidy.