When dinner was served, I could detect no falling off in the colonel's appetite. With the exception of a certain nervous expectance, intensified when there was a rap at the front door, followed by a certain consequent disappointment when Chad announced the return of a pair of shoes—out to be half-soled—instead of the long-delayed reply from the offending broker, he was as calm and collected as ever.
It was only when he took from his table drawer some sheets of foolscap, spread the nib of a quill pen on his thumb nail, and beckoned Fitz to his side, that I noticed any difference even in his voice.
"You know, Fitz, that my hand is not so steady as it was, and if I should fall, there are some things that must be attended to. Sit here and write these memoranda at my dictation."
Fitz drew nearer, and bent his ear in attention.
"I, George Fairfax Caarter of Caarter Hall, Caartersville, Virginia, bein' of sound mind"—
The pen scratched away.
"Everything down but the sound mind," said Fitz; "but go on."
"Do hereby," continued the colonel.
"What's all this for—another challenge?" said Fitz, looking up.
"No, Fitz,"—the colonel did not like his tone,—"but a few partin' instructions which will answer in place of a more formally drawn will."