Jack stood up trembling. There was a queer smell in the room. He walked across and touched the sleeping man on the sleeve.
There was no response. They both waited. Then Jack shook the arm more vigorously. It felt very inert. Mary came across, and put her hand on her uncle's sunken forehead, to lift his head. She gave a little scream.
"Something's the matter with him," she said, whimpering.
Thank goodness, Dr. Rackett was upstairs. They fetched him, and Timothy and Tom, and carried Mr. Ellis into the dying room.
"Better leave me alone with him now," said Rackett.
After ten minutes he came out of the dying room and closed the door behind him. Tom was standing there. He looked at Rackett enquiringly. Rackett shook his head.
Tom's face went to pieces for a moment. Then he composed it, and that Australian mouth of his, almost like a scar, shut close. He went into the dying room.
Someone had to fetch the Methodist son-in-law from York. Jack went in the sulky. Better die in the cart than stop in that house. And he could drive the sulky quietly.
The Methodist son-in-law, though he was stout and wore black, and Jack objected to him on principle, wasn't really so bad, in his own home. His wife Ruth of course burst into tears and ran upstairs. Her husband kept his face straight, brought out the whiskey tantalus, and poured some for Jack and himself. This they both drank with befitting gravity.
"I must be in chapel in fifteen minutes; that will be five minutes late," said the parson. "But they can't complain, under the circumstances. Mrs. Blogg of course will stay at home. Er--is anyone making arrangements out at Wandoo?"
"Oh, seeing to things ... the personal property, too."
"I was sent for you," said Jack. "I suppose they thought you'd see to things."
"Yes! Certainly! Certainly! I'll be out with Mrs. Blogg directly after Meeting. Let me see."
He went to a table and laboriously wrote two notes. Twisting them into cocked hats, he handed them one after the other to Jack, saying:
"This is to the Church of England parson. Leave it at his house. I've made it Toosday, Toosday at half-past ten. I suppose that'll do. And this--this is to the joiner."
He looked at Jack meaningly, and Jack looked vague. "Joshua Jenkins, at the joiner's shop. Third house from the end of the road. And you'll find him in the loft over the stable, Sunday or not, if he isn't in the house."