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Updated: June 15, 2025
On the day of which I am now writing destined to be a memorable day in our calendar the hounds meet at Farleigh Hall. Mrs. Fairbank and I are mounted on two of the best horses in my friend's stables. We are quite unworthy of that distinction; for we know nothing and care nothing about hunting.
The chaise has a seat for two in front, and a seat for one behind. My wife casts a warning look at me, and places herself on the seat in front. The necessary consequence of this arrangement is that Mrs. Fairbank sits by the side of the driver during a journey of two hours and more. Need I state the result? It would be an insult to your intelligence to state the result.
Fairbank was obliged to give way for the time. "In half an hour," she said, "Francis will either be sound asleep, or awake again. In half an hour I shall come back." She took the doctor's arm. They returned together to the house.
Have you found out why Francis Raven was up all night?" Mrs. Fairbank has an eye to dramatic effect. Instead of answering plainly, Yes or No, she suspends the interest and excites the audience by putting a question on her side. "What is the day of the month, dear?" "The day of the month is the first of March." "The first of March, Percy, is Francis Raven's birthday."
I could make nobody hear me." "The landlord is very deaf, sir, and the waiter is out on an errand." "Yes; and you were fast asleep in the stable. Do you often take a nap in the daytime?" The worn face of the hostler faintly flushes. His eyes look away from my eyes for the first time. Mrs. Fairbank furtively pinches my arm. Are we on the eve of a discovery at last? I repeat my question.
Once before the arrival of my fair friend and once after. She consented, with angelic resignation, to immolate her dignity to the servile necessities of my position. After the second visit I was left free. It was then close on midnight. Up to that time there was nothing in the behavior of the mad Englishman to reward Mrs. Fairbank and the doctor for presenting themselves at his bedside.
I try to look as if I was interested and don't succeed. "Francis was born," Mrs. Fairbank proceeds gravely, "at two o'clock in the morning." I begin to wonder whether my wife's intellect is going the way of the landlord's intellect. "Is that all?" I ask. "It is not all," Mrs. Fairbank answers. "Francis Raven sits up on the morning of his birthday because he is afraid to go to bed."
Thode sheered the topic away from his late antagonist, and Billie followed his lead. "Of course you must," she said cordially. "You'll find the whole works going; monte, Fairbank, stud and blackjack. There's roulette and craps, too, but it's mostly the women who go after them." "And you do you play?" He could not forebear the question. "Dad says there never was a good bartender yet who drank."
We took leave of Francis Raven at the door of Farleigh Hall, with the understanding that he might expect to hear from us again. The same night Mrs. Fairbank and I had a discussion in the sanctuary of our own room. The topic was "The Hostler's Story"; and the question in dispute between us turned on the measure of charitable duty that we owed to the hostler himself.
Later in the day, to my unspeakable disgust, I found that I had not done with the Englishman yet. In Mr. Fairbank's absence, Mrs. Fairbank took an incomprehensible interest in the question of my delirious fellow servant's repose at night. Again, one or the other of us was to watch at his bedside, and report it, if anything happened.
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