“I'll get a taxi. Don't worry--we'll get there. Poor old soul--of course he wants to see you! Get on your things. I'll have it here in no time,” he finished, hurrying to the telephone. “Oh, Hugh, I'm so glad I've got _you_ here,” sobbed Billy, stumbling blindly toward the stairway. “I'll be ready in two minutes.” And she was; but neither then, nor a little later when she and Calderwell drove hurriedly away from the house, did Billy once remember that Miss Marguerite Winthrop was coming to call that afternoon to see Mrs. Bertram Henshaw and a roomful of Billy pictures. Pete was still alive when Calderwell left Billy at the door of the modest little home where Eliza's mother lived. “Yes, you're in time, ma'am,” sobbed Eliza; “and, oh, I'm so glad you've come. He's been askin' and askin' for ye.” From Eliza Billy learned then that Mr. William was there, but not Mr. Bertram. They had not been able to reach Mr. Bertram, or Mr. Cyril. Billy never forgot the look of reverent adoration that came into Pete's eyes as she entered the room where he lay. “Miss Billy--my Miss Billy! You were so good-to come,” he whispered faintly. Billy choked back a sob. “Of course I'd come, Pete,” she said gently, taking one of the thin, worn hands into both her soft ones. It was more than a few minutes that Pete lived. Four o'clock came, and five, and he was still with them. Often he opened his eyes and smiled. Sometimes he spoke a low word to William or Billy, or to one of the weeping women at the foot of the bed. That the presence of his beloved master and mistress meant much to him was plain to be seen. “I'm so sorry,” he faltered once, “about that pretty dress--I spoiled, Miss Billy. But you know--my hands--” “I know, I know,” soothed Billy; “but don't worry. It wasn't spoiled, Pete. It's all fixed now.” “Oh, I'm so glad,” sighed the sick man. After another long interval of silence he turned to William. “Them socks--the medium thin ones--you'd oughter be puttin' 'em on soon, sir, now. They're in the right-hand corner of the bottom drawer--you know.” “Yes, Pete; I'll attend to it,” William managed to stammer, after he had cleared his throat. Eliza's turn came next. “Remember about the coffee,” Pete said to her, “--the way Mr. William likes it. And always eggs, you know, for--for--” His voice trailed into an indistinct murmur, and his eyelids drooped wearily.