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Updated: June 27, 2025
Beirne's nephew!" echoed Carlisle Heth, without the slightest strategy. "Vivian? Who on earth, Willie?" demanded Mrs. Heth, puzzled; and looked, not at Willie, but at Carlisle. "Don't you remember? chap that wrote that fierce slush attackin' the Works, month or so ago? That's the bird. Got rye right here, if you prefer it, Canning. Walked a block with him and old Beirne just now.
Canning at the Beirne reception was due to the fact that he, though a demigod, had thought, at times, of writing a book.... "Mats," said Carlisle, apropos of nothing whatever, "have you ever heard people criticizing the Works saying horrid things about conditions being unhealthy there, or anything of that sort?" "Why, yes, dear, I have," said Mats at once, and sweetly. "Not very lately, though.
Passengers arriving by German and other steamers were refused passports upon the instance of the British consul where there was a strong suspicion that they were entering the Transvaal for purposes hostile to Great Britain. Portugal, too, refused to accept the offer of the Transvaal to advance the amount required of the Lisbon Government by the Beirne Arbitration Award.
Passers-by hopped over the coal-hole and glanced up at the pair standing engrossed upon the doorstep. Such as knew either of them concluded from their air that Mr. Beirne was worse again this morning. V. Vivian's gaze faltered and fell.
For on the cold morning of the birthday of the Father of his Country, old Armistead Beirne, whom three doctors had pronounced all but a well man, was found dead in his bed: and a few days later, by the probation of his will, it became known that of his fortune of some two hundred thousand dollars, he had left one-fifth to his eccentric nephew in the Dabney House.
Besides calls on his sick, he was very anxious to get uptown before dinner and inquire after his uncle Armistead Beirne, who had lain ill, with a heavy, rather alarming illness, since a day or two after his New Year's reception. This call was purely avuncular, so to say, Mr. Beirne employing a reliable physician of his own.... The young man picked up his doctor's bag and opened the door.
Beirne records the case of a dangerous lunatic, an epileptic, who was attacked by a fellow-inmate and sustained an extensive fracture of the right parietal bone, with great hemorrhage, followed by coma. Strange to say, after the accident he recovered his intellect, and was cured of his epileptic attacks, but for six years he was a paralytic from the hips down. The Dancing Mania.
Carlisle inquired if Hen had ever heard of a man named V. Vivian, said to be a nephew of Mr. Beirne; and Hen, with a little exclamation, and a certain quickening of countenance, replied that she had been raised with him. Moreover, she referred to him as V.V....
It took a grizzled gentleman from the other end of town, Dr. Halstead, late physician to Mr. Armistead Beirne, to fix the diagnosis beyond doubt. Typhoid, said he, confirming the first impression of his learned young colleague. Kern Garland had typhoid. Well, it wasn't her lungs, at any rate, objects of suspicion since the pleurisy in January.
The cute part about it is that he absolutely believes it.... And it worries him that people aren't as happy as they ought to be, the poor because they haven't anything to be happy with, the rich because they have too much. He and Mr. Beirne argue about that for hours. He's absolutely the only person I ever saw who really doesn't care for "
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