“Well, it do seem hard, mother, certainly; but it was sure to come out some day, and it’s best for one’s own brother to know of it—better than anybody else, because he’ll do what’s right and best for every one—you and Jessie too, of course; for if I get worse (as I may, you know) it would be sad, of course, for it all to go to ruin for want of a master-mind, and no one left to take care of you—and—you come to ruin, and not even your poor husband to make boots and shoes for you again.”
He laughed hysterically, and Mrs Shingle threw her arms round his neck.
“Oh, Dick! dear Dick! what has come to you?” she cried. Then, rousing herself, she turned angrily upon Max. “This is your doing,” she cried. “He was quite well till you came.”
Max shook his head sadly, and wiped his eyes, while Fred tried to take Jessie’s hand; but she motioned him away, and stood by her father, keenly watching all present.
“Don’t talk like that, my dear,” said Dick, patting his wife’s shoulder; “it hurts me, and makes me worse. Max means well, and he’ll see to things being carried out right for all of us, won’t you, Max?”
“Indeed I will,” said Max piously; and Tom still gazed from the window.
“But—but—but do you think, Max,” said Dick, drawing his hands from his wife and child, and speaking in a desultory, wandering way, as if trying to collect his thoughts, “do you think that if you came in with me as you proposed, and saw to the management of the business, so as to relieve me and let me rest, it would be necessary for me to go anywhere away from home?”
“We would take advice over that,” said Max; “the best to be had—medical.”
“N-no,” said Dick shrewdly, “I shouldn’t quite like that, Max; those very clever doctors are too clever sometimes, and they might want to lock me up. I should be better at home with mother here and Jessie. It would make me worse to go away.”
“Oh, that could be managed, perhaps,” said Max; “but you must have your business arrangements seen to—they are so important.”