become "no thoroughfare," and the fountain of life would cease to flow.

The physician bared the chest of the unconscious Chandler. Easily and
skilfully he injected, subcutaneously, the contents of the syringe into
the muscles of the region over the heart. True to his neat habits in
both professions, he next carefully dried his needle and re-inserted the
fine wire that threaded it when not in use.

In three minutes Chandler opened his eyes, and spoke, in a voice faint
but audible, inquiring who attended upon him. Doctor James again
explained his presence there.

"Where is my wife?" asked the patient.

"She is asleep--from exhaustion and worry," said the doctor. "I would
not awaken her, unless--"

"It isn't--necessary." Chandler spoke with spaces between his words
caused by his short breath that some demon was driving too fast. "She
wouldn't--thank you to disturb her--on my--account."

Doctor James drew a chair to the bedside. Conversation must not be
squandered.

"A few minutes ago," he began, in the grave, candid tones of his other
profession, "you were trying to tell me something regarding some
money. I do not seek your confidence, but it is my duty to advise
you that anxiety and worry will work against your recovery. If you
have any communication to make about this--to relieve your mind about
this--twenty thousand dollars, I think was the amount you mentioned--you