“Here is a file of the Times for the last month, sir,” he said.
“Lay them on the foot of the bed where I can reach them, and slip off the first one and give it to me.”
“Here it is, sir. It is the twenty-seventh.”
“That is day before yesterday’s. Is there not a later one?”
“No, sir; perhaps——”
“Well?”
“Perhaps it is in the reading-room, sir. It must have come by the last boat—yesterday’s Times must, I mean, sir. They tell me they always get it the day after publication. Shall I go and see if I can find it, sir?”
“Yes—no,” said Alexander, quickly changing his mind from one purpose to another, as is often the case with convalescents, and less from caprice or irresolution than from a momentary forgetfulness of what they really do want. “No,” he repeated, suddenly remembering that he wished to ascertain whether any unpleasant notice had been taken of his foolish duel by the press. “No—I—you needn’t go after the late paper just yet. I have been laid down here nearly a month, and have fallen so far behind the world’s news that I must go back and post myself up. I will begin with the paper following the one I left off with; and I will glance over them all in turns to see what the world has been doing while I have been lying here. Give me the paper of the date of the second of June.”
The valet looked through the file, and handed the required copy.
“Now leave the others there where I can reach them.”