"
Faces are not yet visible over the telephone, and Kirby could not see
that for a moment the lady's grew white. But when she spoke again the
note of concern in her voice was very evident.
"It was nothing--serious?"
"Oh, no, not at all, merely overwork, and lack of sleep, and the
suspense--and the reaction. He recovered almost immediately, and one
of the clerks went home with him."
"Has Dr. Moffatt been notified?" she asked.
"Yes, I called him up at once; he'll be at the Mercedes by the time
the patient arrives."
There was a little further conversation on matters of business, and
Kirby would willingly have prolonged it, but his news about Mr. French
had plainly disturbed the lady's equanimity, and Kirby rang off, after
arranging to call to see her in person after business hours.
Mr. Kirby hung up the receiver with something of a sigh.
"A fine woman," he murmured, "I could envy French his chances, though
he doesn't seem to see them--that is, if I were capable of envy toward
so fine a fellow and so good a friend. It's curious how clearsighted a
man can be in some directions, and how blind in others."
Mr. French lived at the Mercedes, an uptown apartment hotel
overlooking Central Park. He had scarcely reached his apartment, when
the doctor arrived--a tall, fair, fat practitioner, and one of the
best in New York; a gentleman as well, and a friend, of Mr. French.
"My dear fellow," he said, after a brief examination, "you've been
burning the candle at both ends, which, at your age won't do at all.
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