ds? He has a brother--hasn't he?"

"His brother's in Scotland, Sir."

"His father?"

Perry scratched his head. "From all I hear, Sir, he and his father don't
agree."

Mr. Speedwell applied to Sir Patrick.

"Do you know any thing of his family affairs?"

"Very little. I believe what the man has told you to be the truth."

"Is his mother living?"

"Yes."

"I will write to her myself. In the mean time, somebody must take him
home. He has plenty of friends here. Where are they?"

He looked out of the window as he spoke. A throng of people had gathered
round the pavilion, waiting to hear the latest news. Mr. Speedwell
directed Perry to go out and search among them for any friends of his
employer whom he might know by sight. Perry hesitated, and scratched his
head for the second time.

"What are you waiting for?" asked the surgeon, sharply. "You know his
friends by sight, don't you?"

"I don't think I shall find them outside," said Perry.

"Why not?"

"They backed him heavily, Sir--and they have all lost."

Deaf to this unanswerable reason for the absence of friends, Mr.
Speedwell insisted on sending Perry out to search among the persons
who composed the crowd. The trainer returned with his report. "You were
right, Sir. There are some of his friends outside. They want to see
him."

"Let two or three of them in."

Three came in. They stared at him. They uttered brief expressions of
pity in slang. They said to Mr. Speedwell, "We wanted to see him. What
is it--eh?"

"It's a break-down in his health."

"Bad training?"

"Athletic Sports."

"Oh! Thank you. Good-evening."

Mr. Speedwell's answer drove them out like a flock of sheep before a
dog. There was not even time to put the question to them as to who was
to take him home.

"I'll look after him, Sir," said Perry. "You can trust me."

"I'll go too," added the trainer's doctor; "and see him littered down
for the night."

(The only two men who had "hedged" their bets, by privately backing his
opponent, were also the only two men who volunteered to take him home!)

They went back to the sofa on which he was lying. His bloodshot
eyes were rolling heavily and vacantly about him, on the search for
something. They rested on the doctor--and looked away again. They turned
to Mr. Speedwell--and stopped, riveted on his face. The surgeon bent
over him, and said, "What is it?"

He answered with a thick accent and laboring breath--uttering a word at
a ti