"If it was any kind of shock--"
"Oh--it can't be that!" Richard Kendrick's voice showed his alarm at the
thought. "Grandfather's been such an active old chap--no superfluous
fat--he's not at all a high liver--takes his cold plunge just as he
always has. It can't be that! But I'm off to see. Good-bye, Carson. I'll
'phone you when I know the situation. Meanwhile--wish grandfather safely
out of it, will you?"
"Of course I will; I think a great deal of Mr. Kendrick. Good-bye--and
don't worry about things here." Carson wrung his employer's hand, then
went out with him to the curb, where the car stood, and saw him off. "He
really cares," he was thinking. "Nobody could fake that anxiety. He
doesn't want the old man to die--and he's his heir--to millions. Well,
I like him better than ever for it. I believe if I got typhoid he'd
personally carry me to the hospital or do any other thing that came into
his head. Well, now it's for me to find a competent salesman for this
May sale that's on with such a rush. It's going to be hard to manage
without Benson."
The long, low car had never made faster time to the city, and it was in
the early dusk that it came to a standstill before the porch of the Gray
home.
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