With that last pitiful, unpracticable, boasting threat, this mass of noise, this anachronism without strength or value, stooped to pass the low door, regained his sacred den, assumed his ancient wooden throne and sat there fuming for an hour.
Long after, at dinner that evening, he found himself muttering once or twice: “Freeze me out!” and he felt blood coming up into his face. But in the Plantagenet Club, westward four miles, wiser and stronger men were deciding what had best be done for the M’Korio, for their England, and indeed for Mr Abbott himself.
Far off in Norwood, Mr Burden slept.
CHAPTER XI
It was not altogether well with Mr Burden. Strong Englishmen, even in age, will not suffer in body (I think) through any mere disquiet of the mind. The thing was a coincidence, by which his silly doubtings mingled with some more serious physical ailment. But, whatever the cause, in those hot days immediately succeeding Cosmo’s secret visit to Abbott’s office, it was not altogether well with Mr Burden.
At first a chill, or perhaps a passing weakness, confined him to the house. Next he lost appetite, and betrayed an irritability quite unusual to him. His friends were heartily concerned. The Honourable the Rev. Peregrine Mauclerc called twice upon him, and left upon the last occasion a marked copy of the Spectator, containing a most interesting letter from the Rector’s pen upon the subject of Hell, or Annihilation.
Not quite a week later, Mr Burden leant back at the table almost fainting, and it was evident that he could not go into the City.
It was a collapse, nothing more. It was believed that the necessary repose and a few days’ nursing in the house would restore my poor old friend to health. Indeed, he was so restored, and might still be with us but for the accidents which I have yet to relate.
Though there was nothing definitely the matter, Mr Burden’s wealth, and the value of his well-being to so many others besides himself, were sufficient to attract the aid of the medical profession.
Cosmo’s profound, if silent affection was enhanced by the consideration that his father’s position in the world, and ultimately his own, could not but benefit by a proper observation of rank and circumstance: for, with every hour he spent in the society to which his exceptional brain had given him entry, Cosmo learnt more and more the just weight of externals. Doctor Cayley was sent for, and Doctor, or (as he preferred to be called) “Mr” Gamble, the specialist. It was the practice of both these gentlemen to keep by them certain printed forms, and the moment they were called to the bedside of any distinguished patient, to fill in the blanks and post them to all the leading journals quite impartially, without distinction of party. Cosmo himself, with quiet dignity, gave notice of his father’s illness, and of the names of his medical attendants, to the Morning Post, the Times, the Standard, the St James’s Gazette, the Pall Mall Gazette, the Eagle, the Orb, the Mercury, the Star, the Daily News, the Chronicle, the Intelligencer, the Globe, and several other papers whose great position compels them to print a Social Column.