receiving the transfusion. Then he was alone in his mind with his
memories--mostly of the last day when he'd still been alive. He seemed
to be reliving the events, rethinking the thoughts he'd had then.

It began with the sight of his uncle's face leering at him. Uncle David
Arnold Hanson looked like every man's dream of himself and every woman's
dreams of manliness. But at the moment, to Dave, he looked more like a
personal demon. His head was tilted back and nasty laughter was booming
through the air of the little office.

"So your girl writes that your little farewell activity didn't fare so
well, eh?" he chortled. "And you come crawling here to tell me you want
to do the honorable thing, is that it? All right, my beloved nephew,
you'll do the honorable thing! You'll stick to your contract with me."

"But--" Dave began.

"But if you don't, you'd better read it again. You don't get one cent
except on completion of your year with me. That's what it says, and
that's what happens." He paused, letting the fact that he meant it sink
in. He was enjoying the whole business, and in no hurry to end it. "And
I happen to know, Dave, that you don't even have fare to Saskatchewan
left. You quit and I'll see you never get another job. I promised my
sister I'd make a man of you and, by jumping Jupiter, I intend to do
just that. And in my book, that doesn't mean you run back with your tail
between your legs just because some silly young girl pulls that old
chestnut on you. Why, when I was your age, I already had...."

Dave wasn't listening any longer. In futile anger, he'd swung out of the
office and gone stumbling back toward the computer building. Then, in a