"Indeed I will," responded Miss Gerson, departing.
The telephone tinkled on Georgia's desk.
"Hello," came the voice, "is this Miss Gerson?"
"Did you wish to speak to her personally?"
"I wish to speak with Miss Gerson, Mr. Tatton's secretary."
"This is his secretary," said Georgia.
"This is St. Luke's hospital," said the voice. "Mr. Tatton wants you to take a cab and come right down here to see him, and say—hello—I'm not through—bring your typewriter. Right away."
The old man was propped up in a chair, fully dressed, when Georgia arrived. "Oh, Miss Connor," he said when he saw her, "I wasn't expecting you. All the better, though. Glad you're well again. I'm not." He held his hand to his side and seemed to have difficulty with his breathing.
"Take this," he said. "Date it and write: Codicil. And I hereby declare and publish, being of sound mind and body, and in the presence of witnesses, that I do now revoke and cancel and make of no effect and void, in whole and in part, the clause numbered seven—then put also figure seven in parenthesis—in the foregoing instrument, will and testament of date July second, nineteen hundred and five. I expressly withdraw and withhold all the bequests therein made, named and stipulated."
Georgia took his words directly on the machine. A nurse and an interne witnessed his signature.