Cowperwood, it all rests on your broad American shoulders and your continued health and strength. And that is important.”
At this point there was a knock on the door, following which Berenice entered. After greetings and light conversation, Stane urged both to stay as long as they wished, whether it be a week or a month. But Cowperwood, feeling the need of extreme privacy as well as quiet and rest, insisted on their early departure. After Stane had left, he turned to Berenice, and said:
“It isn’t that I feel so badly, dearest. I don’t, but because of the need of avoiding publicity of any kind, I would like us to leave here as soon as possible, and if I had my choice, I would rather go to Pryor’s Cove than to the hotel. Won’t you please arrange it with Lord Stane so that we may leave here in the morning?”
“Of course, dear,” replied Berenice, “if that’s what you want. I would feel better myself if you were over there near me.”
“There’s one other thing, Bevy,” went on Cowperwood. “I want you to get Jamieson to cable to Dr. Jefferson James in New York. He’s my old physician and friend. Ask him, if possible, to come to London. Tell Jamieson this is to be confidential and in code. He can reach him at the New York Medical Society.”
“Then you do feel that there is something wrong with you?” Her tone indicated her nervousness.
“No! Not as bad as all that by any means, but, as you see for yourself, I’m in a rather uncertain state as to what’s really wrong with me. Besides, as far as my public affairs are concerned, it might strike any person, particularly my stockholders and investors, as very peculiar that a man should suddenly collapse for no apparent reason, although I may have overdone my eating and drinking a little bit last night, particularly as to the champagne. But certainly I never felt like that before. And I surely would like to see Jefferson. He’ll know, and will tell me the truth.”
“Frank,” interrupted Berenice at this point, “what did Dr. Wayne tell you the last time you saw him that you did not tell me? What did the specialists’ report show?”
“Oh, Dr. Wayne said that the pain I had at that time might be distantly related to Bright’s disease, only he was not sure, because, he said, there are two phases of Bright’s disease, chronic and acute. Mine, he said, was neither one nor the other. He said I would have to wait and see if anything of a more serious nature developed before any specialist could give a correct diagnosis.”
“Well, if that’s the case, I think Dr. James should come over. I’ll get Jamieson to cable him tomorrow. In the meantime, I certainly think that Pryor’s Cove is the place for you until such time as Dr. James feels you are all right.”
Whereupon she crossed to the window, drawing the shade, and asked him to try and rest for a period while she went to make all the arrangements necessary for their departure in the morning. But even as she did this, her mind was wrestling with the import of all this to him, and though she was outwardly gracious, she was trembling inwardly.
“You are quite right, my dear,” observed Stane, when she informed him of their decision to go to Pryor’s Cove. “It is likely to have a soothing effect on him, I’m sure, as it has had on me many times in the past. Besides, your mother is there, and she will be of help to you. If you will permit me, I’ll drive you over myself in the morning. Mr. Cowperwood is far too important to me to overlook anything that might contribute to his comfort and speedy recovery.”
Chapter 62
The aftermath of all this was, in the course of the next two weeks, the arrival at Pryor’s Cove of Dr. James, who, seeing Cowperwood resting comfortably in a bedroom overlooking the Thames, paused to observe:
“Well, Frank, I see that you’re not so ill that you can’t enjoy the beautiful view through these windows. I’m half-inclined to suggest that you get up and hurry over to New York and let me stretch out here until I recover from my labors of getting here. I’ve been dying for a vacation for years.”
“Didn’t you enjoy your trip over?” asked Cowperwood.
“I never welcomed a change more in my life. It was beautiful. The sea was calm and there was a minstrel troupe aboard that entertained me enormously. They were headed, if you please, for Vienna, and half of them were Negroes.”
“Same old Jeff!” commented Cowperwood. “My, what a pleasure it is to see you again! If I have wished once, I have wished a score of times that you were over here and could study some of the oddities of these English!”
“Bad as all that, are they?” said James, amusedly. “But suppose you tell me the story of all this from the beginning. Where were you, and why were you arrested?”
Whereupon Cowperwood slowly and carefully proceeded to recite the incidents of his life and labor since he had returned from Norway, together with the opinions of Dr. Wayne and the specialists.
“And that’s why I wanted you to come over, Jeff,” he concluded. “I knew you would tell me the truth. The specialists said it might be Bright’s disease. In fact, they said I might not live more than a year and a half at the most, although Dr. Wayne did say that the conclusions of specialists are not necessarily always correct.”
“Right!” said Dr. James, emphatically.
“Dr. Wayne’s opinion, of course,” continued Cowperwood, “may have given me a false sense of security, for it wasn’t so very long after that I did quite some celebrating, at Lord Stane’s place, and that brought on the disturbing incident I have described to you. I found myself suddenly very short of breath and had to be helped from the room. It’s made me rather doubtful of Dr. Wayne’s diagnosis. But now that you are here, I expect to be told the truth and put on the right track.”
At this point Dr. James stepped forward and put both hands on Cowperwood’s chest.
“Now show me how deep you can breathe,” he said, and after Cowperwood’s best effort in that direction, the doctor said: “Ah, I see, a little dilation of the stomach. I shall have to leave you something for that.”
“Does it look as though I have a fatal disease, Jeff?”
“Not so fast, Frank. After all, I have to make some examinations. But I can say this: you have already seen two doctors and three specialists, and you’ve learned that it might cause your death or it might not cause your death. As you know, there’s always a wide margin between the possible and the impossible, between the certain and the uncertain, and there’s always a wide margin between sickness and health. But looking at you here now, and taking into consideration your general physical tone, I think you are likely to be around here for some months yet, maybe for several years. You must give me time to work on you, to think out what is best for you. In the meantime, tomorrow morning, fairly early, I’ll be back here to make a complete physical examination.”
“Wait a minute!” exclaimed Cowperwood. “My orders are that you’re to stay here with us, with me and my ward, Miss Fleming, and her mother.”
“It’s very good of you, Frank, to ask me, but I can’t stay today. It just so happens that there are one or two drugs I’ll have to find in London before I go on with you. But I’ll come back about eleven in the morning, and after that, I’ll stay with you, as you wish, at least long enough to make you a better, if not a wiser, man. But now, no champagne, in fact no liquor of any kind, for a while at least, and no food with the exception of a cream soup, perhaps, and plenty of buttermilk.”
Whereupon Berenice entered the room and was introduced by Cowperwood. Dr. James, after greeting her turned to Cowperwood and exclaimed:
“How can you be ill, with such a cure for all ills right here at your bedside! You may be sure I’ll be here bright and early in the morning.”
After which, and very professionally, he explained to Berenice that when he returned he would require hot water, towels, and some charcoal from a brightly blazing fireplace which he saw in an adjoining room.
“To think I should have come all the way from New York to treat him, with the cure right here,” he observed to her, smilingly. “This world is too ridiculous for any use.”
Berenice, noting how wise and gay he was, liked him at once, and thought of the many strong and interesting people Frank invariably drew to himself.
Accordingly, after an added personal talk with Cowperwood, he left for the city, but not before he had caused Cowperwood to feel that his gigantic financial obligations constituted a form of disease in themselves.
