"Is Chalmers home yet?"

The clerk is angry. "You have no right to call me up for that!" he
avers. "I need my sleep."

"You don't need sleep no worse than I do, young feller."

The door is shut, and Corkey must go home.

When the comrades next see Corkey he is down with pneumonia. His fever
rages. Sores break out about his mouth. "I have a friend I want to
find awful bad," he says, fretting and rolling. "Chalmers! He runs a
drug store at 803 State street, down beyond Eighteenth. But I'm afraid
he ain't to be found. I'm afraid he's disappeared. I couldn't find
him last week, nor last night, but it was pretty late when I git down
there."

The doctor is grave. "He must not worry. Find this Chalmers. Tell
him he must come at once if he wishes to make his friend easier."

"I must see Chalmers. I'm sicker than they think. I'm tired out. I
can't stand such a fever. That pillow's wet. That's better. It's
cold, though. I guess my fever's going. Now I'm getting hot again. I
do want to see Chalmers."

The patient tosses and fumes. The comrades hurry to Chalmers' drug
store, as others have done.

"The proprietor is out of the city," the clerk answers to all
inquirers. "He left no address."