“Our instructions, Mr. Horn, were to find your cousin.”
“I see,” said “Cobbler” Horn, with a smile; “and you have done that. Well now, gentlemen, will you be kind enough to do something more?”
“We will attend to your commands, Mr. Horn,” was the deferential response. “That is our business.”
“Yes,” was the emphatic assent of Mr. Tongs.
“The Golden Shoemaker” was becoming accustomed to the readiness of all with whom he had to do to wait upon his will.
“Well, gentlemen,” he said, “I wish everything to be done to relieve my poor cousin’s distress, and even, if possible, to save his life. Be good enough to telegraph directions for him to be removed without delay to some place where he will receive the best care that money can procure. If his life cannot be saved, he may at least be kept alive till I can reach his bedside.”
“Your commands shall be obeyed, sir,” said Mr. Ball; “but,” he added with much surprise, “is it necessary for you to go to New York yourself?”
“That you must leave to me, gentlemen,” said “the Golden Shoemaker” in a tone which put an end to debate.
“Now, gentlemen,” he resumed, “kindly hand me those letters; and let me know how soon, after to-morrow, I can set out.”
“You don’t mean to lose any time, sir,” said Mr. Ball, handing the bundle of letters to his client.