“I don’t know—yet.”
Simeon stared again. Then he chuckled a little. “I believe you could,” he said grimly. “He ’d go away thinking I was a prizefighter!”
John’s hand rested lightly on the shaking one, holding it firm, and his eyes were on the quivering, driven face. “He ’d go away thinking the truth, sir—that you are a big man.”
Simeon smiled a little shame-facedly, drawing away the hand. “I ’m a big fool,” he said shortly. “There is n’t a bigger anywhere—except you!”
The young man’s face expressed content. “You will see Dr. Blake?”
“I ’ll see Blake—yes.” The shadow had returned again to his face, blotting out hope. He had drawn a sheet of paper toward him.
“I ’ll see Blake if you want me to. But Blake can’t help—”
“Blake can, if anybody can,” said John stoutly.
“If anybody can—yes.” It was a half whisper. He was writing wearily, like an old man. Presently the pen stopped and he sat staring before him.... A little look of hope stole into the set face. He took up his cheque-book and filled in a cheque in his fine, scrawling hand.
He looked around. The young man was hard at work. He waited a minute, impatient. Then he spoke, hesitating a little between the words, “Oh—John—?”