The Seventh Noon Part 48

"Half past nine."

Two hours and a half longer! He determined to remain here until eleven. If, up to that time, Barstow had not called the dog by name he would leave. He must write that letter and he must put himself as far out of reach of these friends as possible before the end. If he died on the train, his body would be put off at the next station and a local inquest held. The verdict would be heart disease; enough money would be found in his pocket to bury him; and so the matter would be dropped.

"I want you to promise, Don," ran on Barstow, "for I tell you that it's either a rest or the hospital for you. You have nervous prostration written big all over your face. I know how hard it is to make the initial effort to pull out when your brain is all wound up, but you 'll regret it if you don't. And you 'll like the crowd, Don. Lindsey is a hearty fellow, who hasn't anything to do but live--but he does that well. He's clean and square as a granite corner-stone. It will do you good to mix in with him.

"And his boat is a corker! He spent a quarter of a million on it, and he 's got a French cook that would make a dead man eat. He 'll put fat on your bones, Don, and Lindsey will make you laugh. You don't laugh enough, Don. You 're too serious. And if you have such weather as we 've had this week you 'll come back with a spirit that will boost your law practice double."

He felt of Donaldson's arm. It was thin and flabby.

"Good Heavens--here, feel of mine!"

Donaldson grasped it with his weak fingers. It was beastly thick and firm.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"It is twenty minutes of ten. Is time so important to you?"

"I must get down-town before long."

"Rot! Why don't you drop your business here and now. Let things rip."

"Where 's the dog?" demanded Donaldson. The pup was out of sight. He felt strangely frightened. He got up and looked all about the room.

"Where 's he gone?" he demanded again.

Barstow grasped him by the shoulder.

"You must pull yourself together," he said seriously. "You 're heading for a worse place than the hospital."

"But where the devil has he gone? He was here a minute ago, was n't he?"

"Easy, easy," soothed Barstow. "Hold tight!"

"Find him, won't you, Barstow? Won't you find him?"

To quiet him Barstow whistled. The dog pounded his tail on the floor under the lounge.

"He 's under there," said Barstow.

"Get him out--get him out where I can see him, won't you?"

Barstow stooped.

"Come, Sandy, come," he called.

Donaldson leaped forward.

"What did you call him?" he demanded as Barstow staggered back.

"Have you gone mad?" shouted Barstow.

"What did you call him?" repeated Donaldson fiercely. "Tell me what you called him?"

"I called him Sandy. Control yourself, Don. If you let yourself go this way--it's the end."

"The end?" shouted Donaldson. "Man, it 's the beginning! It's just the beginning! Sandy--Sandy did n't die after all!"

"Oh, that's what's troubling you," returned Barstow with an air of relief. "Why did n't you tell me? You thought the dead had risen, eh?

No, the stuff didn't work. The dog only had an attack of acute indigestion from overeating. But Gad, the coincidence _was_ queer, when you stop to think of it. I 'd forgotten you left before he came to."

"Then," cried Donaldson excitedly, "you did n't have any poison after all!"

"No. I was so busy on more important work that my experiments with that stuff must all of them have been slipshod. But it did look for a minute as though Sandy here had proven it. But, Lord,--it was n't the poison that did for him--it was his week. His week was too much for him!"

"Give me your hand, Barstow. Give me your hand. I 'm limp as a rag."

"That's your nerves again. If you were normal, the mere fact that you thought you saw a spook dog would n't leave you in this shape. Come over here and sit down."

"Get me some water, old man--get me a long, long drink."

When Barstow handed him the gla.s.s, which must have held a pint, Donaldson trembled so that he could hold it to his lips only by using both hands, as those with palsy do. He swallowed it in great gulps.

He felt as though he were burning up inside. The room began to swim around him, but with his hands kneading into the old sofa he warded off unconsciousness. He must not lose a single minute in blankness. He must get back to her--get back to her as soon as he could stand. She was suffering, too, though in another way. He must not let another burning minute scorch her.

"Perhaps you 'll take my advice now," Barstow was saying, "perhaps you were near enough the brink that time to listen to me. Tell me I may ring up Lindsey--tell me now that you 'll go with him."

"Go--away? Go--out to sea?" cried Donaldson.

"Yes. To-morrow morning."

"Why, Lord, man! Lord, man!" he panted, "I--would n't leave New York--I would n't go out there--for--for a million dollars."

"You d.a.m.ned a.s.s!" growled Barstow.

"I--I would n't--go, if the royal yacht--of the King of England were waiting for me."

"Some one ought to have the authority to put you in a strait-jacket and carry you off. I tell you you 're headed for the madhouse, Don!"

Donaldson staggered to his feet. He put his trembling hands on Barstow's shoulders.

"No," he faltered, "no, I 'm headed for life, for life, Barstow! You hear me? I 'm headed for a paradise right here in New York."

Barstow felt baffled. The man was in as bad a way as he had ever seen a man, but he realized the uselessness of combatting that stubborn will. There was nothing to do but let him go on until he was struck down helpless. From the bottom of his heart be pitied him. This was the result of too much brooding alone.

"Peter," he said, "the loneliest place in this world is New York. Are you going to let it kill you?"

"No! It came near it, but I 've beaten it. I 'm bigger now than the dear old merciless city. It's mine--down to every dark alley. I 've got it at my feet, Barstow. It is n't going to kill me, it's going to make me grow. It is n't any longer my master--it's a good-natured, obedient servant. New York?" he laughed excitedly. "What is New York but a little strip of ground underneath the stars?"

"That would sound better if your eyes were clearer and your hand steadier."