which, unknown to those about me, made my continued presence in this house a necessity from which the embarrassment of the occasion could not release me. The dead man was Archibald Gillespie, the well-known stockbroker and railroad magnate, whose name, as well as those of his three spendthrift sons, was in every man's mouth since that big deal by which he had made two millions in less than two months. Meanwhile one of the gentlemen who had accompanied the two Gillespies into the room where their father lay, came out looking very pale. He was a doctor, though to all appearance not the family physician. "Will one of you go for Dr. Bennett?" he asked.[11] "Bring him at once and at any cost; Mr. Gillespie cannot be moved till he comes." [11] Dr. Bennett evidently was the family physician. "Why can't he be moved?" called out a voice near me. "Is there anything wrong? Mr. Gillespie was violently sick a month ago. I suppose he got around too quickly." But the young doctor, without replying, stepped back into the room, leaving us all agog, though few of us ventured upon open remonstrance. In another minute one of the men near me slipped out in obedience to the request just made. "Is Mrs. Gillespie living?" I asked, after a moment spent in more or less indecision. "Where have you come from?" was the answer given, seasoned by a stare I bore with what equanimity I could. "Mrs. Gillespie has been dead these fifteen years." So! the letter was not meant for his wife. Here I caught an eye fixed on mine. It was that of one of the servants who stood huddled about the doorway of what appeared to be a large dining-room on the opposite side of the hall. When this man, for it was a male servant, saw that he had attracted my attention, he made me an imperceptible sign. As he was old and grey-haired, I heeded the sign he made and stepped towards him. Instantly he greeted me with the whisper: "You seem to be the only sober man here. Don't let them do anything till Mr. Leighton comes in. He is the saint of the family, sir."
Prev.
Back
Top