“Can you be the other witness yourself, Sherry? Rather not? Doctor, just send for Stubbs, will you please? He’ll do, won’t he?”
Trimm nodded, while he and the physician set a small invalid’s table upon the sick man’s knees, and spread upon it the will, of which the ink was not yet dry. Trimm dipped the pen in the ink and handed it to Mr. Craik.
“Let me drink first,” said the latter. He swallowed the small draught eagerly, and then looked about him.
“Will you sign?” asked Trimm nervously.
“Is Stubbs here? Wait for him. Here, Stubbs—you see—this is my will. I’m going to sign it, and you’re a witness.”
“Yes, sir,” said the butler, gravely. He moved forward cautiously so that he could see the document and recognise it if he should ever be called upon to do so.
The sick man steadied himself while the doctor thrust his arm behind the pillows to give him more support. Then he set the pen to the paper and traced his name in large, clear characters. He did not take his eyes from the paper until the doctor and the servant had signed as witnesses. Then his head fell back on the pillows.
“Take that thing away, Sherry, and keep it,” he said, feebly, for the strength had gone out of him all at once. “You may want it to-morrow—or you may not.”
Mechanically he laid his fingers on his own pulse, and then lay quite still. Sherrington Trimm looked at the doctor with an expression of inquiry, but the latter only shrugged his shoulders and turned away. After such a manifestation of energy as he had just seen, he felt that it was impossible to foresee what would happen. Tom Craik’s nerves might weather the strain after all, and he might recover. Mr. Trimm folded the document neatly, wrapped it in a second sheet of paper and put it into his pocket. Then he prepared to take his leave. He touched the sick man’s hand gently.
“Good-night, Tom,” he said, bending over his brother-in-law. “I will call in the morning and ask how you are.”