'You don't know my wife, I think. Mr. Byass, Clem. Nothing wrong, I
hope?'
Samuel, having made his best City bow, swung back from his toes to
his heels, and stood looking down into his hat. 'I'm sorry to say,'
he began, with extreme gravity, 'that Mr. Snowdon is rather ill--
in fact, very ill. Miss Jane asked me to come as sharp as I could,'
'Ill? In what way?'
'I'm afraid it's a stroke, or something in that line. He fell down
without a word of warning, just before ten o'clock. He's lying
insensible.'
'I'll come at once,' said Joseph. 'They've got a doctor, I hope?'
'Yes; the doctor had been summoned instantly.'
'I'll go with you,' said Clem, in a tone of decision.
'No, no; what's the good? You'll only be in the way.'
'No, I shan't. If he's as bad as all that, I shall come.'
Both withdrew to prepare themselves. Mr. Byass, who was very nervous
and perspiring freely, began to walk round and round the table,
inspecting closely, in complete absence of mind, the objects that
lay on it.
'We'll have a cab,' cried Joseph, as he came forth equipped. 'Poor
Jane's in a sad state, I'm afraid, oh?'
In a few minutes they were driving up Pentonville Road.
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