There was no pause now until he reached the doors of a large hotel
in the centre of the city. Entering, he passed first into the
reading-room and looked through it carefully, then stood in the
office for several minutes, as if waiting for some one. While here a
gentleman who had once been a client came in, and was going to the
clerk's desk to make some inquiry, when Ridley stepped forward, and
calling him by name, reached out his hand. It was not taken,
however. The man looked at him with an expression of annoyance and
disgust, and then passed him without a word.
A slight tinge of color came into Ridley's pale face. He bit his
lips and clenched his hands nervously.
From the office he went to the bar-room. At the door he met a
well-known lawyer with whom he had crossed swords many times in
forensic battles oftener gaining victory than suffering defeat.
There was a look of pity in the eyes of this man when they rested
upon him. He suffered his hand to be taken by the poor wretch, and
even spoke to him kindly.
"B----," said Ridley as he held up one of his hands and showed its
nerveless condition, "you see where I am going?"
"I do, my poor fellow!" replied the man; "and if you don't stop
short, you will be at the end of your journey sooner than you
anticipate."
"I can't stop; it's too late. For God's sake get me a glass of
brandy! I haven't tasted a drop since morning."
His old friend and associate saw how it was--saw that his
over-stimulated nervous system was fast giving way, and that he was
on the verge of mania.
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