“Now you’ve been moving yourself about again!” she cried, bending over him.
Crage opened his eyes and looked up at her maliciously.
“He came up on business,” he whispered.
“You’re a pretty man to do business, ain’t you?” she sneered.
“No, not to-day,” he mocked. “Too ill. All right to-morrow. Tell the genelman to come to-morrow, early. Quite well to-morrow.”
I turned to go, and Crage, raising himself in his chair, rasped out:
“Bring the money with you, young cockney, or no business. Mind that!”
The woman followed me to the door.
“Has he got a doctor?” I asked.
“Doctor Hall came once,” she said, “but he won’t do anything he tells him. He won’t take his medicine and he won’t go to bed. He says he’ll die if he goes to bed. He sleeps all night in that arm-chair in the drawing-room. If he don’t die soon, I shall; I know that very well. If you’ve got any business to do with him, you’d better come early in the morning. He can’t last much longer.”