"I have had Dr. Biggs call since you were here," she told him,
assuming the pose which a certain Broadway favorite had discovered
(the photograph of the leading lady in this particular pose had been
cut from the latest theatrical gazette which now lay upon the
sitting-room table; it is denied us to enter the room set aside for
Miss Jocelyn to see if the picture be pinned to the wall over her
dresser!)--a pose which was not lost to the appreciative and admiring
eyes of Mr. Hapgood. "Dr. Biggs says that papa's is a high-strung,
nervous disposition which at times makes the taking of--of a little
alcohol absolutely necessary. And that the--the stimulant is liable to
upset him. It is entirely a nervous trouble, and in a few days, with
perfect rest, he will be well again."
Mr. Hapgood nodded gravely, sympathetically.
"Mr. Truxton has been so great a factor in the reclamation project--he
has been the very heart and soul of the actual work done--that I
wonder how Mr. Crawford's schemes will get along without him?"
"I hope they fail," cried Jocelyn, hotly. "Papa has given the best in
him to help them, and look how they send him adrift when--when he
makes one little slip!"
"Do you know why Crawford really let him go?" Hapgood, speaking in
hushed tones, continued to eye her keenly. "Don't you know that
Crawford was just waiting and looking for an excuse--any excuse?"
Jocelyn turned widening eyes upon him.
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