"And you believed it, of course!" Saunders laughed in a sneering, cynical sort of way and resumed his scrutiny of the clock. The old woman gave up the fight and began to weep silently, hoping, but in vain, to hear the light step of her son approaching the door. The clock struck the hour; the old man rose without a word, drew his hat further over his brow, and left the house.
Up to the last moment Mrs. Saunders hardly believed her husband would carry out his threat. Now, when she realised he was determined, she had one wild thought of flying to the club and warning her son. A moment's consideration put that idea out of the question. She called the serving-maid, who came, as it seemed to the anxious woman, with exasperating deliberation.
"Jane," she cried, "do you know where the Athletic Club is? Do you know where Centre Street is?"
Jane knew neither club nor locality.
"I want a message taken there to Dick, and it must go quickly. Don't you think you could run there——"
"It would be quicker to telegraph, ma'am," said Jane, who was not anxious to run anywhere. "There's telegraph paper in Mr. Richard's room, and the office is just round the corner."
"That's it, Jane; I'm glad you thought of it. Get me a telegraph form.
Do make haste."
She wrote with a trembling hand, as plainly as she could, so that her son might have no difficulty in reading:—
"Richard Saunders, Athletic Club, Centre Street.
"Your father is coming to see you. He will be at the club before half-an-hour."