"Think I'm sick, don't you?" he asked.

"You certainly are," I answered.

"Well, I'm not."

For a moment silence. I glanced at Hobart. Hobart nodded.

"You're just about in line for a doctor, Chick, old boy," I said.
"I'm going to see that you have one. Bed for you, and the care of
mother--"

He started; he seemed to jerk himself together.

"That's it, Harry; that's what I wanted. It's so hard for me to
think. Mother, mother! That's why I came downtown. I wanted a
friend. I have something for you to give to mother."

"Rats," I said. "I'll take you to her. What are you talking
about?"

But he shook his head.

"I wish that you were telling the truth, Harry. But it's no use--
not after tonight. All the doctors in the world could not save me.
I'm not sick, boys, far from it."

Hobart spoke up.