Bertie came to his side, his brown face full of concern. "Are you better, old chap?"
"Yes, better, thanks. Only so dog-tired. Sit down. Have you brought the budget?"
"There's nothing much to-day. Only that chap Cradock writing again for instructions about the Arizona ranch, and a few Wall Street tips from Marsh by cable. Say, Luke, I don't think Cradock is overweighted with spunk, never have thought so. Guess that ranch wants a bigger man."
"I'll see his letter," said Lucas. "Presently will do. What about Marsh?"
"Oh, he's behind the scenes as usual. You'd better read him now. The rest will keep. When you've done that I want to talk to you."
"So I gathered. Stuff in another pillow behind me, will you? I can think better sitting up."
"I shouldn't, old chap, really. You're always easier lying down."
"Oh, shucks, Bertie! Do as you're told. And don't look at me like that, you old duffer. It's a mean advantage to take of a sick man. Steady now, steady! Go slow! You mustn't slam a creaking gate. It's bad for the hinges."
But notwithstanding Bertie's utmost care there were heavy drops on his brother's forehead as he sank again upon his pillows. Bertie wiped them away with a hand that trembled a little, and Lucas smiled up at him with twitching lips.
"Thanks, boy! It was only a twinge. Sit down again, and give me Marsh's cipher and the morning papers. The letters you shall read to me presently."