"Dr. King," he said breathlessly, "a telegram, sir. For Mrs. Richie.
And mother said it was bad news!"
"Oh, William!" said Martha; "bad news! Do you know what it is, Eddy?"
"Somebody is dead," the boy said, important and solemn.
"Her brother?" William King asked in dismay.
"Well, not the brother that comes here; his name is Lloyd, mother said.
This is somebody whose name begins with 'F.' Perhaps another brother.
Mother showed the despatch to me; it just said: 'F. died suddenly
yesterday in Paris.' It was signed 'S. R.'"
"It isn't from Pryor, then," William commented.
"Oh, William," Martha whispered, "what shall we do? Must you give it to her now?—oh, William!"
Dr. King stood staring at the orange-colored envelope in silence.
"Shall I call Dr. Lavendar?" Martha asked breathlessly.
"Wait," her husband said; "let me think: it may not be anybody very near and dear; but whether it is or not, there is nothing she can do about it to-night. The telegraph-office is closed. I don't see why her evening need be spoiled. No; I won't give it to her now. When the people go—"