month."
"But the doctor says you're coming on," ventured Biggs.
"Sure he does," answered the banker with a sneer. "That's his stock intrade. I know that line of palaver. Secretly, he knows I am as liable tobe dead as alive when he comes again."
"Oh, sir, you aren't going to die!"
"That's what I'm afraid of, Biggs. But they'll call me dead and go aheadand embalm me and make sure of it."
"Oh, sir, I wish----"
"Now remember, Biggs," broke in the sick man, "shoot the firstundertaker that tries to put that mummy stuff in my veins."
"I understand perfectly, sir," answered Biggs, fearful lest the other'sexcitement might again give him a turn for the worse.
"I know I'm apparently going to pass away. My father and grandfatherboth had this cussed virus in their veins, and I don't believe either ofthem was dead when he was pronounced so!"
"Well, if by any chance--that is, if you," began Biggs desperately, "ifyou are apparently--dead--why not have them keep your body here in thehouse for a time?"
"Convention, formality, custom, hide-bound law!" the banker fairlyfrothed. "The health authorities would come here with an army and seethat I was buried. No, Biggs, I've got a fine crypt out there, all quietand secure, good ventilation, electric lights, like a pullman berth--anda push-button. That precludes all notoriety. It's secret and safe. Theelectrician who installed the apparatus died four years ago. So you andI, alone, possess this knowledge."
"Don't you think someone else should know of it too? Your attorney,or----"
"No, Biggs. If I really am dead I don't want anyone to write up myeccentricities for some Sunday magazine sheet. And if I do come back,then it will be time to tell the gaping public about my cleverness."
"I wish you weren't so--so cold-blooded about it all, sir."
"I have always hit straight from the shoulder, Hiram, and I'm facingthis death business as I'd face any other proposition. I'm not ready tocash in, and if I can cheat the doctors, undertakers, lawyers, heirs,and chief mourners for a few more years, I'm going to do it. And don'tforget poor old granddad. He might have been up and about yet had he butused my scheme."
* * * * *
Biggs turned away, sick at heart. It was too terrible beyond words. Tohim his religion was as essential as daily bread. Death was theculmination of cherished belief and constant prayer. As his yearsdeclined he had faced the inevitable day with simple faith that when thesummons came he would go gladly, like him "who wraps the drapery of hiscouch about him and lies down to pleasant dreams." With throbbing hearthe listened for another torrent of words that would still further stabhis sensitive soul; for he had loved and revered his master from hisyouth up.
But no words came. He wheeled about. The massive head had fallen limplyamong the pillows. Pallid lips were trying to form sentences withoutresult. Then the great body seemed to subside immeasurably deeper intothe covers and a death-like stillness fell upon the room.
Intuitively feeling that his master was worse than at any previousrelapse, Biggs made every effort to revive him, gently at first, andthen by vigorously shaking and calling to him in a heart-broken, piteousvoice. But to no avail. The heavy figure looked pallid and corpse-likeunder the snowy sheets.
Long hours dragged by, and still the lonely old servant sat mutelybeside the bed, only aroused, at last, by the peremptory, measured callof the telephone bell.
"Yes," said Biggs in a quavering voice. "Oh yes, Doctor Meredith,Master's resting easy. Don't think you'll need to come until tomorrow."
"I'll keep them away as long as I can," he muttered, as he slipped backto his vigil. "God grant--maybe he'll come back--and take up the work ofthe Master, so long delayed. Oh God! If Thou wouldst only take me in hisstead!"
Sleeping fitfully, Biggs sat dumbly through an interminable night, butthe new day brought no reassuring sign from the inert form. Thestillness was appalling. The other servants were quartered in a distantpart of the mansion and only came when summoned. Again Biggs assured thephysician that he could gain nothing by calling, and another awful nightfound him, ashen and distraught, at the bedside. Sometime in the stillwatches he swooned and kindly nature patched up his shredded nerves,before consciousness once more aroused him. But the strain was more thanhe could bear. So when the anxious specialist came, unbidden, he found ashattered old watchman who broke down completely and babbled forth thewhole mysterious tale, concealing nothing but the secret of the tomb.
In a coffin previously made to order, they laid the unembalmed remainsof Judson McMasters in the family mausoleum, and the world which hadfelt his masterful presence for so many years paused long enough to laya costly tribute on his bier and then went smoothly on its way.
Not so with the faithful Biggs. Ensconced in his master's bedroom, henightly tossed in troubled sleep, filled with the jangling ofinnumerable electric bells. And when--on the tenth night, after he hadbeen somewhat reassured that all was well--he was suddenly awakened by amad, incessant ringing from the hidden alarm, a deathly weaknessovercame him and it was some time before he was able to drag his palsiedbody from the bed. With fumbling, clumsy fingers he tried to hasten, butit was many minutes before he tottered, half dressed, out of the room.And as he did so, his heart almost stood still, then mounted to histhroat as if to choke him.
"Biggs!"--a voice--McMaster's voice was calling.
He staggered to the head of the wide, massive stairway and looked down.There stood the banker, pale, emaciated, but smiling.
And then, as from an endless distance, came more words:
"I forgot to tell you that I had a trap-door in the end of the casket.When you didn't answer the bell, I found I could come alone."
With an inarticulate cry, Biggs stretched out his trembling arms.
"My Master, I am coming now."
Then he swayed, stumbled, clutched feebly at the rail and plungedheadlong to the foot of the stairs, a crumpled, lifeless form.
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