"O, yes; I remember now. I'm sick; very sick."
"How do you feel?"
"I'm aching and trembling all over. Do you think I am going to die?" he asked, with a startled look.
"Oh, no, I guess not," said Tony, reassuringly. "Everybody is sick now and then."
"I never felt so before," groaned Ben. "I'm an old man. Don't you think—don't you really think I shall die?"
He looked appealingly at Tony, as if the fiat of life and death lay with him.
Tony, of course, knew nothing of medicine or of diseases, but he had the sense to understand that the old man would be more likely to recover if his terror could be allayed, and he said, lightly:
"Oh, it's only a trifle. You've taken cold, very likely. A cup of hot tea would be good for you."
"I haven't any tea," groaned Ben. "It costs a great deal, and I'm very poor. I can't afford to buy it."
Tony smiled to himself, remembering the hoard of gold under the floor, but he would not refer to it, at least not at present.