" He drew in a
chair to the bedside and sat down. "Now I wish you to understand.
You've got a mortal bad cold, which may develop into a fever; and you
have a slightly congested throat; altogether you must consider yourself
an invalid, old man; and it may be some time before you can get back to
the theatre. Now the first thing for you is peace of mind; you're not to
worry about anything; you've got to dismiss every possible care and
vexation."
"It's all you know, Maurice," the sick man said, with a wearied sigh.
"Oh, I know more than you think. We'll just take one thing at a time.
About this eleven hundred pounds for example. You are aware I am not,
strictly speaking, a Croesus, yet I have made my little economies, and
they are tied up in one or two fairly safe things. Well, now--Oh, be
quiet, Linn, and let me have it out! Something happened to me yesterday
that more than ever convinced me of the worthlessness of riches. You
know the coppice that goes up from Winstead station. At the farther end
there is a gate. At that gate yesterday I heard a dozen words--twenty or
thirty, perhaps--that were of more value to me than Pactolus in full
flood or all the money heaped up in Aladdin's cave.
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