"What did the old codger have to say to the committee?" asked another voice, which Peace recognized as that of Dr. Race, though she could not see him.
"He wasn't even decent about it. Said if his father had seen fit to spend half his fortune erecting this hospital, it was no sign that he intended to follow his example. What is more, he declared that we never would see another red cent of Danbury money if he could help it. Called his father an old fool and every other uncomplimentary name he could think of."
"Did you remind him that his father had intended to build this addition that we are so anxious for?"
"Yes, and got laughed at for my pains. If only old John Danbury could have lived to see his building completed! He used to say he cared for no other monument than Danbury Hospital."
"Do you know," said a new voice thoughtfully, "I think he recognized the worthlessness of his profligate son, and planned to sink his whole fortune in this institution? Money has been the curse of Robson Danbury's life, and his father knew that the only hope of making anything like a man out of him was the cutting him off without a cent, but the Death Angel claimed him before he had finished his plans."
"Well, that doesn't help us out of our predicament," said Dr. Race in his crisp, curt tones. "How are we to get our addition built?"
"Go to the Church for it,—that's our only course now," suggested Dr. Shumway resignedly.
"The Church! Good gracious, man! The church is bled to death now with its collections for this and subscriptions for that," declared Dr. Rosencrans impatiently. "They won't listen to our cry for help. I'm sorry this hospital is a denominational institution. It is a serious handicap."
"It ought not to be," said Dr. Shumway stoutly. "Our people should be proud of the chance to give to such a cause."