Sam nodded again and once more closed his eyes. He grew more uncomfortable as the end of the journey approached, for he dreaded the reception that awaited him. Max had telephoned the news of his father's illness to his sister, Miss Babette Gembitz, Sam's only daughter, who upon her mother's death had assumed not only the duties but the manner and bearing of that tyrannical person; and Sam knew she would make a searching investigation of the cause of his ailment.
"Doctor, what do you think is the matter with me?" he asked, by way of a feeler.
"At your age, it's impossible to say," the doctor replied; "but nothing very serious."
"No?" Sam said. "Well, you don't think it's indigestion, do you?"
"Decidedly not," the doctor said.
"Well, then, you shouldn't forget and tell my daughter that," Sam declared as the cab stopped opposite his house, "otherwise she will swear I am eating something which disagrees with me."
He clambered feebly to the sidewalk, where stood Miss Babette Gembitz with Dr. Sigmund Eichendorfer.
"Wie gehts, Mr. Gembitz?" Doctor Eichendorfer cried cheerfully as he took Sam's arm.
"Unpässlich, Doctor," Sam replied. "I guess I'm a pretty sick man."
He glanced at his daughter for some trace of tears, but she met his gaze unmoved.