The Argosy — page 284: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

The Story of Charles Strange. 263 CHAPTER XXX. DANGER. Mrs. BRIGHTMAN was certainly improving. When I reached her house with Annabel on the following day, Sunday, between one and two o’clock, she was bright and cheerful, and came towards the entrance-gates to meet us. She, moreover, displayed interest in all we told her of our honeymoon in the Isle of Wight and of the places we had visited. Besides that, I noticed that she took water with her dinner. ‘‘Tf she’ll only keep to it,” said Hatch, joining me in her uncere- monious fashion as I strolled in the garden later, smoking a cigar. ““Ves, Mr. Charles, she’s trying hard to put bad habits away from her, and I hope she'll be able to do it.” “JT hope and trust she will!” ‘‘ Miss Brightman went back to Hastings the day after the wedding- day,” continued Hatch; ‘“‘ but before she started she had a long interview with my mistress, they two shut up in missis’s bedroom alone. For pretty nigh all the rest of the day, my missis was in tears, and she have not touched nothing strong since.” ‘Nothing at all!” I cried in surprise, for it seemed too good to be true. ‘ Why, that’s a fortnight ago! More than a fortnight.” “ Well, it is so, Mr. Charles. Not but that missis has tried as long and as hard before now—and failed again.” It was Monday evening before I could find time to go round to Lake’s—and he did not come to me. He was at home; poring over some difficult law case by lamp-light. ‘Been in court all day, Charley,” he cried. ‘‘ Have not had a minute to spare for you.” “About Tom?” I said, as I sat down. ‘‘ You seem to say that you had more unpleasantness to tell me.” ‘¢ Aye, about Tom,” he replied, turning his chair to face me, and propping his right elbow upon his table. ‘‘ Well, I fear Tom is in a bad way.” “In health, you mean ?” “Tdo. His cough is frightful, and he is more like a skeleton than a living being. I should say the illness has laid hold of his lungs.” “Has he had a doctor?” “No. Asks how he is to have one. Says a doctor might (they were his own words) smell a rat. Doctors are not called in to the class of people lodging in that house unless they are dying: and it would soon be seen by any educated man that Tom is not of they kind. My opinion is, that a doctor could not do him much good now,” added Lake. He looked at me as he spoke; to see, I suppose, whether I took in his full meaning. I did—unhappily. CORNICOOOKS.EO©