"You've got a tremendous number of friends, Linn, and no mistake," he said. "Many a great statesman or poet might envy you."
"I suppose it is in the papers?" Lionel asked, without raising his head.
"In one or two of the late editions last evening, and in most of to-day's papers; but to-morrow it will be all over the country. I have had several London correspondents here this afternoon."
"All over the country?" Lionel repeated, absently, and then he lay still for a second or two. "No use—no use!" he moaned, in so low a voice that Mangan could hardly hear. And then again he looked up wearily.
"Come here, Maurice. I want to—to ask you something. If—if I were to die—do you think—they would put it in any of the papers abroad?"
"Nonsense—what are you talking about?" Maurice exclaimed, in a simulated anger. "Talking of dying—because you've got a feverish cold; that's not like you, Linn! You're not going to frighten your people when they come up from Winstead, by talking like that?"
"Don't let them come up," was all he said, and shut his eyes again.
Among the callers that afternoon who, learning that Mr. Mangan was up-stairs, came personally to make inquiries, was Miss Burgoyne, who was accompanied by her brother.
"What is the matter?" she said, briefly, to Maurice. "One never can trust what is in the newspapers."
He told her.