Part 16 (2/2)

”What's going on here?” he asked faintly.

”It's pretty nearly finished,” the doctor replied. ”Weldon, Jones & Company, of Minneapolis, are going to open a New York store.”

Sam nodded again and once more closed his eyes. He grew more uncomfortable as the end of the journey approached, for he dreaded the reception that awaited him. Max had telephoned the news of his father's illness to his sister, Miss Babette Gembitz, Sam's only daughter, who upon her mother's death had a.s.sumed not only the duties but the manner and bearing of that tyrannical person; and Sam knew she would make a searching investigation of the cause of his ailment.

”Doctor, what do you think is the matter with me?” he asked, by way of a feeler.

”At your age, it's impossible to say,” the doctor replied; ”but nothing very serious.”

”No?” Sam said. ”Well, you don't think it's indigestion, do you?”

”Decidedly not,” the doctor said.

”Well, then, you shouldn't forget and tell my daughter that,” Sam declared as the cab stopped opposite his house, ”otherwise she will swear I am eating something which disagrees with me.”

He clambered feebly to the sidewalk, where stood Miss Babette Gembitz with Dr. Sigmund Eichendorfer.

”_Wie gehts_, Mr. Gembitz?” Doctor Eichendorfer cried cheerfully as he took Sam's arm.

”_Unpa.s.slich_, Doctor,” Sam replied. ”I guess I'm a pretty sick man.”

He glanced at his daughter for some trace of tears, but she met his gaze unmoved.

”You've been making a hog of yourself again, popper!” she said severely.

”_Oser!_” Sam protested. ”Crackers and milk I am eating for my lunch.

The doctor could tell you the same.”

Ten minutes afterward Sam was tucked up in his bed, while in an adjoining room the young physician communicated his diagnosis to Doctor Eichendorfer.

”Arteriosclerosis, I should say,” he murmured, and Doctor Eichendorfer sniffed audibly.

”You mean Bright's Disease--ain't it?” he said. ”That feller's arteries is as sound as plumbing.”

Doctor Eichendorfer had received his medical training in Vienna and he considered it to be a solemn duty never to agree with the diagnosis of a native M.D.

”I thought of Bright's Disease,” the young physician replied, speaking a little less than the naked truth; for in diagnosing Sam's ailment he had thought of nearly every disease he could remember.

”Well, you could take it from me, Doctor,” Eichendorfer concluded, ”when one of these old-timers goes under there's a history of a rich, unbalanced diet behind it; and Bright's Disease it is. Also, you shouldn't forget to send in your bill--not a cent less than ten dollars.”

He shook his confrere warmly by the hand; and three hours later the melancholy circ.u.mstance of Sam's Bright's Disease was known to every member of the cloak and suit trade, with one exception--to wit, as the lawyers say, Sam himself. He knew that he had had _gefullte Rinderbrust_, but by seven o'clock this knowledge became only a torment as the savoury odour of the family dinner ascended to his bedroom.

”Babette,” he called faintly, as becomes a convalescent, ”ain't I going to have no dinner at all to-night?”

For answer Babette brought in a covered tray, on which were arranged two pieces of dry toast and a gla.s.s of b.u.t.termilk.

”What's this?” Sam cried.

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