“Certain family reasons make it inexpedient at present,” said Gerald. “My mother is in a very nervous state; she depends on us, and any hint of our leaving her is sufficient to render her condition serious.”
By this time the two young men were well uptown. On Gerald's initiative, they turned down a side street, and shortly came to a stop.
“That is my gymnasium,” said Gerald, pointing to a building across the way. “Won't you come in with me? I am due now for my practice.”
XVII
Orde's evening was a disappointment to him. Mrs. Bishop had, by Carroll's report, worked feverishly at the altar cloth all the afternoon. As a consequence, she had gone to bed with a bad headache. This state of affairs seemed to throw the entire family into a state of indecision. It was divided in mind as to what to do, the absolute inutility of any effort balancing strongly against a sense of what the invalid expected.
“I wonder if mother wouldn't like just a taste of this beef,” speculated the general, moving fussily in his chair. “I believe somebody ought to take some up. She MIGHT want it.”
The man departed with the plate, but returned a few moments later, impassive—but still with the plate.
“Has she got her hot-water bag?” asked the boy unexpectedly.
“Yes, Master Kendrick,” replied the butler.