"Oh, Homer! can this be true? The dear, gentle Gertrude I once so loved and petted! But it is my own fault. I drove her away. I have only myself to blame." And burying his face in his pillow, the sick man sobbed aloud.
Instead of replying, Homer Bulson got out of a medicine closet the bottle of wine he had brought two days before and poured out a glassful.
"Take this, Uncle Mark. I know it will do you good," he said.
"No, I want no wine!" cried Mr. Horton. And suddenly he dashed wine and glass to the floor. "I hate it! It does me no good. I want nothing but Gertrude!" And he buried his face in his pillow again.
"I will do my best to bring her to you," said Bulson hypocritically.
He remained at the mansion a short while, and was then told that there was a man who wished to see him.
He hurried to his own apartments across the way, and here found himself face to face with Sam Pepper.
"You played me a fine trick," growled Pepper. "Give me back the papers you stole from me."
"Let us come to an understanding," said Bulson. "I am willing to pay for what I took, Pepper. Come with me."