News was at once forthcoming; the event had obviously
caused no small local excitement. It was two days since the falling of the
chimney, which happened towards evening, when the gale blew its hardest.
Mr. Spicer was at that moment sitting before the fire, and only by a
miracle had he escaped destruction, for an immense weight of material came
down through the rotten roof, and even broke a good deal of the flooring.
Had the occupant been anywhere but close by the fireplace, he must have
been crushed to a mummy; as it was, only a few bricks struck him,
inflicting severe bruises on back and arms. But the shock had been serious.
When his shouts from the window at length attracted attention and brought
help, the poor man had to be carried downstairs, and in a thoroughly
helpless state was removed to the nearest hospital.
'Which room was he in?' inquired Goldthorpe. 'Back or front?'
'In the front room. The back wasn't touched.'
Musing on Mr. Spicer's bad luck--for it seemed as if he had changed from
the back to the front room just in order that the chimney might fall on
him--Goldthorpe hastened away to the hospital. He could not be admitted
to-day, but heard that his friend was doing very well; on the morrow he
would be allowed to see him.
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