He was a thin, small man, middle-aged, with a very round head
and a small pointed beard.
"How do you do, Mr. Vandover?" he said, very pleasantly as Vandover
passed by the servant holding open the door and came in.
"How do you do, Mr. Field?" answered Vandover, shaking his hand. "Well,
I'm sorry to see you like this."
"Yes," answered the lawyer, "I'm--I have trouble with my digestion
sometimes, more annoying than dangerous, I suppose. Take a chair, won't
you? You can find a place for your hat and coat right on the table
there. Well," he added, settling back on the pillows and looking at
Vandover pleasantly, "I think you've grown thinner since the last time I
saw you, haven't you?"
"Yes," answered Vandover grimly, "I guess I have."
"Yes, yes, I suppose so, of course," responded the lawyer with a vague
air of apology and sympathy. "You have had a trying time of it lately,
taking it by and large. I was _very_ painfully shocked to hear of your
father's death. I had met him at lunch hardly a week before; he was a
far heartier man than I was. Eat? You should have seen--splendid
appetite.
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