"Any one been in this morning, Teddy?" asked Mr. Burroughs, passing
into the inner office.
"No, sir."
"I am going out of town for a day or two, Teddy,--going to New York;
and Mr. Barlow will be here to attend to the business. You will do
whatever he wishes as you would for me. You understand?"
"Yes, sir."
The good-natured young man, struck by the mournful tone of Teddy's
usually hearty voice, turned and looked sharply at him.
"Aren't you well, Teddy?"
"Yes sir, thank your honor."
"Not 'your honor' until I'm a judge, Teddy. But what's amiss with
you, my boy?"
"I wouldn't be troubling your--you with it, sir. It's nothing as can
be helped."
"No, no; but what is it, Teddy?" insisted the lawyer, who saw that
Teddy could hardly restrain his tears.
"Nothing, sir; but the little sister is mortal sick, and the doctor
says he's afeard she won't stand it."
"Your little sister, Teddy?"
"Yes, sir."
"I didn't know you had one. You never spoke of her before, did you?"
"Maybe not, sir."
"What is the matter with her?"
"The faver, sir."
Mr. Burroughs knew that this phrase in an Irish mouth means but one
disease, and replied, in a sympathizing voice,--
"Typhus! I'm sorry for you, Teddy, and sorry, too, for your mother,
who is an excellent woman; but the little girl may yet recover:
while there is life, there is hope, you know.
Pages:
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82