Bob shook his head. “I can’t now, grandfather,” he said. “I will tell you, or write you, some day. You will just have to take my word that I have a reason and—well, don’t feel too hard against me, that is all.”
The story, or rumor of a story, to which Foster Townsend had referred, sprang from no one seemed to know just where. Tobias Eldridge appeared to be the first to have heard it, but Tobias refused any information. “It just dropped my way by accident,” he said, “and ’twan’t any more than a hint, as you might say. I don’t know any particulars and, to be real honest, I don’t want to know any. I shan’t say another word. Wished I hadn’t said nothin’. It’s ’most likely all lies anyhow; and I ain’t hankerin’ to be sued for libel. No sir-ee! I don’t know nothin’ and the next feller that asks me will find I’ve forgot even that.”
But the whispering continued and the next forenoon when Esther returned from an errand downtown she called her uncle into the library. Young Covell was to be taken to the Boston hospital on the afternoon train. His condition was no worse, in fact it was a trifle more encouraging. During the previous night he had momentarily regained consciousness, had muttered a word or two. Doctor Bailey was less pessimistic than at first, but insisted that the sooner his patient reached the hospital when, if necessary, an operation could be performed, the better. The doctor was to accompany him, so also was the nurse and Captain Townsend. The latter was busy and disinclined to talk, but his niece persisted.
“I won’t keep you but a minute, Uncle Foster,” she pleaded; “but I do want to ask a question. When you went to see Bob yesterday there at his studio, what did he say to you?”
Her uncle was fidgeting by the door. “I told you what he said,” he replied. “You don’t want to hear it all over again.”
“You didn’t tell me much of anything. You didn’t seem to want to talk about it.”
“Eh?... Oh, well, there wasn’t anything to talk about.... Good Lord!” irritably, “what are you so particular about that fellow for? Haven’t you had enough of him? Look at the mess he’s got us all into.”
She looked at him. “Why, Uncle Foster!” she cried indignantly. “How can you say such a thing as that? It was he who brought Seymour home that night. If it had not been for him—Uncle Foster, what do you mean? Have you heard anything more—anything new about the accident? Tell me, have you?”
The tone in which the question was asked caused him to glance at her. Her eyes were fixed upon his face and he noticed that her clasped hands were trembling.
“No-o,” he replied, with a shake of the head. “Nothing that you need to worry about, anyway.”