It was
a season of impecuniosity with him, and his mood was anything but
cheerful. He did not rise when his visitor entered.
'Well now, what do you think brings me here?' exclaimed Joseph, when
he had carefully closed the door.
'Hanged if I know, but it doesn't seem to be particularly bad news.'
Indeed, Joseph had overcome his sensibilities by this time, and his
aspect was one of joyous excitement. Seeing on the table a bottle of
sherry, loosely corked, he pointed to it.
'If you don't mind, Scaw. I'm a bit upset, a bit flurried. Got
another wine-glass?'
From the cupboard Scawthorne produced one and bade the visitor help
himself. His face beg auto express curiosity. Joseph tilted the
draught down his throat and showed satisfaction.
'That does me good. I've had a troublesome day. It ain't often my
feelings are tried.'
'Well, what is it?'
'My boy, we are all mortal. I dare say you've heard that observation
before; can you apply it to any particular case?'
Scawthorne was startled; he delayed a moment before speaking.
'You don't mean to say--'
'Exactly. Died a couple of hours ago, after lying insensible all
day, poor old man! I've just written your people a formal
announcement.
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