“Forgive me, the news has upset me. Of course if I had got it then we should not have won, it was selfish of me.”
“I have a taxi here all ready for you,” said the doctor, and he led Sefton out by the back way, and put him inside.
“I will tell the others,” he said.
The misery of the journey Sefton never forgot.
He knew his father had been in failing health for some time, but had not expected any sudden failure.
Sefton’s Mother was dead, and his young sister had only left school the summer before to look after the house.
It was an ugly bleak house in Finchley that the doctor occupied, too big and poorly furnished, for he had never made a success of his practice, being far too much occupied with research. When his wife had been in full health, he had taken in one or two patients who were on the borderline of insanity, and treated them himself, but his wife’s breakdown in health put a stop to this source of income, and if she had known it, of brilliant discovery.
When Sefton arrived, and had got rid of the taxi, he was met by Ena, on whose face were marks of tears.
“Oh I am so glad you’ve come, father had been asking for you, the doctor has just left but is coming back.”
“How is father?” he asked.