Candy's face that my
experiment on him was a total failure.
The little doctor sat restlessly picking at the points of his fingers
all the time I was speaking. His dim watery eyes were fixed on my face
with an expression of vacant and wistful inquiry very painful to see.
What he was thinking of, it was impossible to divine. The one thing
clearly visible was that I had failed, after the first two or three
words, in fixing his attention. The only chance of recalling him to
himself appeared to lie in changing the subject. I tried a new topic
immediately.
"So much," I said, gaily, "for what brings me to Frizinghall! Now, Mr.
Candy, it's your turn. You sent me a message by Gabriel Betteredge----"
He left off picking at his fingers, and suddenly brightened up.
"Yes! yes! yes!" he exclaimed eagerly. "That's it! I sent you a
message!"
"And Betteredge duly communicated it by letter," I went on. "You had
something to say to me, the next time I was in your neighbourhood. Well,
Mr. Candy, here I am!"
"Here you are!" echoed the doctor. "And Betteredge was quite right.
I had something to say to you. That was my message. Betteredge is a
wonderful man.
Pages:
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700