Uncle Caesar was waiting outside the hotel the next afternoon. He took me to Miss Adairs house and agreed to wait there until we had finished our business. Azalea Adair did not look well. I explained the agreement to her. She signed it. Then, as she started to rise from the table, Azalea Adair fainted and fell to the floor. I picked her up and carried her to the old red sofa. I ran to the door and yelled to Uncle Caesar for help. He ran down the street. Five minutes later, he was back with a doctor. The doctor examined Miss Adair and turned to the old black driver. Uncle Caesar, he said, run to my house and ask my wife for some milk and some eggs. Hurry! Then the doctor turned to me. She does not get enough to eat, he said. She has many friends who want to help her, but she is proud. Misses Caswell will accept help only from that old black man. He was once her familys slave. Misses Caswell. I said in surprise. I thought she was Azalea Adair. She was, the doctor answered, until she married Wentworth Caswell twenty years ago. But hes a hopeless drunk who takes even the small amount of money that Uncle Caesar gives her. After the doctor left I heard Caesars voice in the other room. Did he take all the money I gave you yesterday, Miss Azalea? Yes, Caesar, I heard her answer softly. He took both dollars. I went into the room and gave Azalea Adair fifty dollars. I told her it was from the magazine. Then Uncle Caesar drove me back to the hotel. A few hours later, I went out for a walk before dinner. A crowd of people were talking excitedly in front of a store. I pushed my way into the store. Major Caswell was lying on the floor. He was dead. Someone had found his body on the street. He had been killed in a fight. In fact, his hands were still closed into tight fists. But as I stood near his body, Caswells right hand opened. Something fell from it and rolled near my feet. I put my foot on it, then picked it up and put it in my pocket. People said they believed a thief had killed him. They said Caswell had been showing everyone that he had fifty dollars. But when he was found, he had no money on him. I left Nashville the next morning. As the train crossed a river I took out of my pocket the object that had dropped from Caswells dead hand. I threw it into the river below. It was a button. A yellow button — the one from Uncle Caesars coat.