CHAPTER LVII 



THE DEATH OF SIR TOM 



AT 7.30 on the morning of March 16, Dr. 

 High telephoned me that Sir Thomas O'Hara 

 was seriously ill, and asked me to come at once. 

 It took but a few minutes to have Jerry at the 

 door, and, breasting a cold, thin rain at a sharp 

 gallop, I was at my friend's door before the 

 clock struck eight. Dr. High met me with a 

 heavy face. 



" Sir Tom is bad," said he, " with double 

 pneumonia, and I am awfully afraid it will go 

 hard with him." 



I remembered that my friend's pale face had 

 looked a shade paler than usual the evening be- 

 fore, and that there had been a pinched expres. 

 sion around the nose and mouth, as if from pain ; 

 but Sir Tom had many twinges from his old 

 enemy, gout, which he did not care to discuss, 

 and I took little note of his lack of fitness. He 

 touched the brandy bottle a little oftener than 

 usual, and left for home earlier ; but his voice 

 was as cheery as ever, and we thought only of 

 gout. He was taken with a hard chill on his 

 way home, which lasted for some time after he 



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