Theodore Dreiser - The Stoic

“Never happier,” he answered. “I’m with you, my beautiful!”

“Darling!” whispered Berenice.

“Isn’t it wonderful, Bevy? You, this place, these people! This is what I’ve been seeking all my life!”

She smiled affectionately at him, but just then she felt him sway slightly and then pause and place his hand to his heart, murmuring: “Air, air; I must get outside!”

She took firm hold of his hand and led him toward an open door out onto a balcony facing the sea. She urged and aided him to the nearest bench, on which he sank limply and heavily. By now she was terribly alarmed, and ran toward a servant who was passing with a tray, exclaiming: “Please! I need help! Get someone, and help me get him to a bedroom. He is seriously ill.”

The frightened servant immediately called the butler, who had Cowperwood carried into an unoccupied chamber on the same floor, after which Lord Stane was notified. He, upon his arrival, was so shocked by Berenice’s distress that he ordered the butler to remove Cowperwood to his own suite on the second floor, and at once called his own physician, Dr. Middleton. Also the butler was instructed to insure silence on the part of all of the servants in regard to this.

In the meantime, Cowperwood was beginning to stir, and as Dr. Middleton came in, was so revived as to be conscious of the need of caution and to say to Stane that the less said about this the better, other than that he had tripped and fallen. He was sure, he said, he would be all right in the morning. Dr. Middleton, however, had a different idea about his illness, and gave him a sedative. After which he advised the sick man remain where he was for a day or two, at least, in order that he might discover whether there were any complications. For, as he said to Stane, Cowperwood’s condition was probably more serious than a fainting spell.

The next morning, when Cowperwood awakened in the Stane suite, he found himself, except for the goings and comings of very courteous servants, alone for a time, and it was then that he began to run over in his mind the fairly disturbing phases of all that had so swiftly happened to him. For he was a little startled by the fact that, after having arrived at a sense of relative security in connection with his physical welfare, he should be so suddenly made aware of his illness.

Was it really true that he had fallen victim to this fatal Bright’s disease? At the time of Dr. Middleton’s call he had not been sufficiently alert to discuss this matter of his collapse. For one thing, as he now recalled, he had had the sensation of extreme shortness of breath, which finally resulted in the physical weakness which caused him to fall. Was that due to a kidney condition, as earlier described by Dr. Wayne, or was it a matter of too much champagne, too much food? The doctor, as he recalled, had impressed upon him that he was not to drink anything but water and eat very lightly.

To make sure that he was following the right course in regard to himself, he decided to have Berenice cable his old-time friend and personal physician, Dr. Jefferson James, in New York, to come to London at once. This trusted friend would be the one to satisfy him as to his true condition.

However, as he slowly and somewhat calmly surveyed the situation, there was a tap at the door, and Lord Stane entered, making of his coming a very cheerful and gracious affair.

“There you are!” he exclaimed. “You and your beautiful girls and your champagne! Think of it! Aren’t you really ashamed of yourself?” Cowperwood smiled broadly. “And, incidentally,” went on Stane, “I have an order to inflict severe punishment on you for at least twenty-four hours. No champagne! Instead, water! No caviar, not a grain, only a thin sliver of beef, plus more water! Perhaps, when you’re about ready to collapse, a bowl of thin gruel and more water!”

Cowperwood sat up. “I call that tops for cruelty,” he said. “But perhaps, you can be induced to share my water and gruel. In the meantime, and strictly in confidence, you might tell me what Dr. Middleton told you.”

“Well,” replied Stane, “what he really said was that you were forgetting that your years are creeping up on you, and that champagne and caviar are entirely outside your present powers of digestion. Also dancing until sunrise. Hence your collapse on my over polished ballroom floor. And hence Dr. Middleton’s approaching visit to find out how you’re getting along, although he says he cannot find that there is anything seriously wrong with you other than overwork, which is something you can easily remedy. And I must tell you that your lovely ward, who was good enough to accept my offer of lodging for the night, will be down shortly. I need not tell you, of course, that she is as greatly concerned as I am, regardless of Dr. Middleton’s conclusions”—a statement which caused Cowperwood to assert rather positively:

“But there’s nothing of any consequence the matter with me. I may not be as good as new, but I’m still somewhere near it. And as far as business is concerned, I’ll be on hand to cope with any difficulties there. As a matter of fact, you should be able to judge for yourself, by the results so far, whether our affairs are being managed capably or not.”

There was just a tingle of reproach in his tone, which Stane noticed.

“The results have been tremendous,” he said. “Anyone who could come over here with such a proposition as yours and secure $25,000,000 from American investors, certainly deserves nothing but compliments from me. And I’m glad to express my gratitude, and that of our investors, for your interest and your services. The only trouble is, Cowperwood, it all rests on your broad American shoulders and your continued health and strength. And that is important.”

At this point there was a knock on the door, following which Berenice entered. After greetings and light conversation, Stane urged both to stay as long as they wished, whether it be a week or a month. But Cowperwood, feeling the need of extreme privacy as well as quiet and rest, insisted on their early departure. After Stane had left, he turned to Berenice, and said:

“It isn’t that I feel so badly, dearest. I don’t, but because of the need of avoiding publicity of any kind, I would like us to leave here as soon as possible, and if I had my choice, I would rather go to Pryor’s Cove than to the hotel. Won’t you please arrange it with Lord Stane so that we may leave here in the morning?”

“Of course, dear,” replied Berenice, “if that’s what you want. I would feel better myself if you were over there near me.”

“There’s one other thing, Bevy,” went on Cowperwood. “I want you to get Jamieson to cable to Dr. Jefferson James in New York. He’s my old physician and friend. Ask him, if possible, to come to London. Tell Jamieson this is to be confidential and in code. He can reach him at the New York Medical Society.”

“Then you do feel that there is something wrong with you?” Her tone indicated her nervousness.

“No! Not as bad as all that by any means, but, as you see for yourself, I’m in a rather uncertain state as to what’s really wrong with me. Besides, as far as my public affairs are concerned, it might strike any person, particularly my stockholders and investors, as very peculiar that a man should suddenly collapse for no apparent reason, although I may have overdone my eating and drinking a little bit last night, particularly as to the champagne. But certainly I never felt like that before. And I surely would like to see Jefferson. He’ll know, and will tell me the truth.”

“Frank,” interrupted Berenice at this point, “what did Dr. Wayne tell you the last time you saw him that you did not tell me? What did the specialists’ report show?”