THE DEATH OF SIR TOM
At 7.30 on the morning of March 16, Dr. High telephoned me that Sir Thomas O'Hara was seriously ill, and asked me to come at once. It took but a few minutes to have Jerry at the door, and, breasting a cold, thin rain at a sharp gallop, I was at my friend's door before the clock struck eight. Dr. High met me with a heavy face.
"Sir Tom is bad," said he, "with double pneumonia, and I am awfully afraid it will go hard with him."
I remembered that my friend's pale face had looked a shade paler than usual the evening before, and that there had been a pinched expression around the nose and mouth, as if from pain; but Sir Tom had many twinges from his old enemy, gout, which he did not care to discuss, and I took little note of his lack of fitness. He touched the brandy bottle a little oftener than usual, and left for home earlier; but his voice was as cheery as ever, and we thought only of gout. He was taken with a hard chill on his way home, which lasted for some time after he was put to bed; but he would not listen to the requests of William and the faithful cook that the doctor be summoned. At last he fell into a heavy sleep from which it was hard to rouse him, and the servants followed their own desire and called Dr. High. He came as promptly as possible, and did all that could be done for the sick man.
A hurried examination convinced me that Dr. High's opinion of the gravity of the case was correct, and we telephoned at once for a specialist from the city, and for a trained nurse. After a short consultation with Dr. High I reëntered my friend's room, and I fear that my face gave me away, for Sir Tom said:—
"Be a man, Williams, and tell the whole of it."
"My dear old man, this is a tough proposition, but you must buck up and make a game fight. We have sent for Dr. Jones and a nurse, and we will pull you through, sure."
"You will try, for sure, but I reckon the call has come for me to cash in me checks. When that little devil Frost hit me right and left in me chest last night, I could see me finish; and I heard the banshee in me sleep, and that means much to a Sligo man."
"Not to this Sligo man, I hope," said I, though I knew that we were in deep waters.
The wise man and the nurse came out on the 10.30 train, the nurse bringing comfort and aid, but the physician neither. After thoroughly examining the patient, he simply confirmed our fears.