Yet one must not devote himself to a rich lady beyond a period of reasonable length. One's own business must be rescued from neglect. If this doctrine be taught skillfully Esther Lockwin will learn that she must show her gratitude in a substantial manner.
Five millions, for instance.
After that crisis secrecy may be, less sternly imposed. If the lady, in her illness--ah! that was a shock to Harpwood, that runaway--if the lady, in her illness, demand personal calls, which must certainly let loose the gossips--after all, it is her matter. If Esther Lockwin desire to see George Harpwood in the day-time, in the evening--all the time--so be it.
Is it the bright face of Esther Lockwin that spurs Corkey to his grand enterprise? What has kept the short man so many months in silence? Why is it he has never gotten beyond the matter of the lounge in the fore-cabin of the Africa? This afternoon he will speak. It is a good scheme. It can be fixed--especially by a woman.
"She can stand it if he can," says Corkey, who reckons on the resurrection of David Lockwin.
So the face that was dark at State street becomes self-satisfied at Prairie avenue. Corkey is picturesque as he raps his cane on the marble stairs.
"Bet your sweet life none of this don't scare me!" he soliloquizes, touching the stateliness of the premises.
He enters. He comes forth later, meeting another caller in the vestibule. It is a dark face that the Commodore carries to the bedside of David Lockwin, around on State street.
Corkey sits down. Then he stands up. He concludes he will not talk, but it is a false conclusion. He will talk on the patient's case.
"How slow you git on, old man."