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Updated: July 14, 2025
He attempted to speak, but his utterance was choked; and the tears in his eyes blurred to spectral dimness the only human being whom he held warm in his heart. "Hank, while I am able to talk I've got a great favor to ask of you. And you'll grant it, won't you?" "Yes," DeGolyer Bobbed. For a few moments the sick man lay in silence. He fumbled about and found DeGolyer's hand.
At first he refused to sit on the showy plush, and even after DeGolyer's soothing and affectionate words had relieved his fear of giving offense, he jumped to his feet when the porter came through the car, and in a trembling fright begged his companion to protect him against the anger of the head waiter. "Sit down, my dear boy. He is not a head waiter he is your servant." "Is he?"
On DeGolyer's part the day was spent in the spinning of the threads of excuses. He might explain a week's delay, but how was he to account for a three months' put-off? And if at the end of that time young Witherspoon's case should be pronounced hopeless what course was then to be taken? He did not see George Witherspoon again until dinner-time. The merchant met him with a quick inquiry.
DeGolyer followed him to a wretched place that bore the name of a public-house, and went with him into a room. A lamp sputtered on a shelf. Young Sawyer caught DeGolyer's hands. "I have waited so long for you to come back to this dreadful place. I am all alone. Uncle is dead." DeGolyer sat down without saying a word. He sat in silence, and then he asked: "When did he die?"
DeGolyer's acquaintance with Spanish was but small, and he could comprehend but little of what a pedantic doctor might say, yet he learned that there was not much encouragement to be drawn from the fact that the sick man's mind sometimes returned from its troubled wandering. DeGolyer was again alone with his friend.
Delays and difficulties of traveling, together with his own determination to do the work thoroughly, prolonged DeGolyer's absence. Nearly three months had passed. Evening was come, and from a distant hill-top the returning traveler saw the steeple of Ulmata's church a black mark on the fading blush of lingering twilight. A chilly darkness crept out of the valley.
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