The Yacht Club | Page 5

much concerned for poor Michael.
"Do you think he will die, Mr. Cavendish?" asked she, almost as much moved as though the poor man had been her father.
"O, no! I think he will recover. These Irishmen have thick heads, and they don't die so easily of sun-stroke; for that's what the doctor says it is," replied Laud, knowingly.
Nellie thought, if this was a true view of coup de soleil, Laud would never die of it. She thought this; but she was not so impolite as to say it. She asked him no more questions; for she saw Don John approaching through the dining-room.
"Good afternoon, Miss Patterdale," said Laud, with a bow and a flourish, as he retired towards the library, where he had left his hat.
In a few moments more, the rattle of the wagon, with which he delivered goods to the customers, was heard as he drove off. Don John came into the hall, and Nellie asked him ever so many questions about the condition of Michael, and what the doctor said about him; all of which the young man answered to the best of his ability.
"Do you think he will die, Don John?" she asked.
"I am sure I can't tell," replied Donald; "I hope not."
"Michael is real good, and I am so sorry for him!" added Nellie.
But Michael is hardly a personage in our story, and we do not purpose to enter into the diagnosis of his case. He has our sympathies on the merit of his sufferings alone, and quite as much for Nellie's sake; for it was tender, and gentle, and kind in her to feel so much for a poor Irish laborer. While she and Donald were talking about the case, Mr. Hasbrook came down stairs, and passed through the hall into the library, where he, also, had left his hat. In a few moments more the rattle of his wagon was heard, as he drove off, indignant and disgusted at the indifference of the nabob in refusing to take an interest in his brilliant enterprise. He was angry with himself for having paid his note before he had enlisted the payee in his cause.
"How is he, father?" asked Nellie, as Captain Patterdale entered the hall.
"The doctor thinks he sees some favorable symptoms."
"Will he die?"
"The doctor thinks he will get over it. But he wants some ice, and I must get it for him."
"I suppose you will not go in the Sea Foam now?" asked Donald.
"No; it is impossible," replied the captain, as he passed into the dining-room to the refrigerator.
The father was like the daughter; and though he was a millionnaire, or a demi-millionnaire--we don't know which, for we were never allowed to look over his taxable valuation--though he was a nabob, he took right hold, and worked with his own hands for the comfort and the recovery of the sufferer. It was creditable to his heart that he did so, and we never grudge such a man his "pile," especially when he has earned it by his own labor, or made it in honorable, legitimate business. The captain went up stairs again with a large dish of ice, to assist the doctor in the treatment of his patient.
Donald staid in the hall, talking with Miss Nellie, as long as he thought it proper to do so, though not as long as he desired, and then entered the library where he, also, had left his hat. Perhaps it was a singular coincidence that all three of the visitors had left their hats in that room; but then it was not proper for them to sit with their hats on in the presence of such a magnate as Captain Patterdale, and no decent man would stop for a hat when a person had fallen in a fit.
Captain Patterdale's hat was still there; and, unluckily, there was something else belonging to him which was not there.
CHAPTER II.
ABOUT THE TIN BOX.
Captain Patterdale worked with the doctor for a full hour upon poor Michael, who at the end of that time opened his eyes, and soon declared that he was "betther entirely." He insisted upon getting up, for it was not "the likes of himself that was to lay there and have his honor workin' over him." But the doctor and the nabob pacified him, and left him, much improved, in the care of his wife.
"How is he, Dr. Wadman?" asked the sympathizing Nellie, as they came down stairs together.
"He is decidedly better," replied the physician.
"Will he die?"
"O, no; I think not. His case looks very hopeful now."
"I thought folks always died with sun-stroke," said Nellie, more cheerfully.
"No; not unless their heads are very soft," laughed the doctor.
"Well, I shouldn't think Laud Cavendish would dare to go out when the sun shines," added the fair girl, with a snap