to gather a little strength and whispered: ‘I want—I want—’ and then he stopped and rested, unable to go on. The doctor arrived and gave him a little whisky, and then he began again, trying so hard to speak and not quite making it. At last he whispered: ‘I want—I want—that—that—paper.’ And then: ‘Klippert—and you—’ He stopped again, then added: ‘Get all these others out of here—all but you three and the doctor.’ “The doctor urged Mrs. Osterman and her sons to leave, but I could see that she didn’t like it. Even after she went out she kept returning on one excuse and another, and she was there when he died. When she was out of the room the first time I produced the will and he nodded his approval. We called for a writing board, and they brought one—a Ouija board, by the way. We lifted him up, but he was too weak and fell back. When we finally got him up and spread the will before him he tried to grasp the pen but he couldn’t close his fingers. He shook his head and half whispered: The——the——boys—th—the—boys.’ Klippert was all excited, but Osterman could do nothing. Then his wife came into the room and asked: ‘What is it that you are trying to make poor Johnnie sign? Don’t you think you had better let it rest until he is stronger?’ She tried to pick up the paper but I was too quick for her and lifted it to one side as though I hadn’t noticed that she had reached for it. I could see that she was aware that something was being done that neither we nor Osterman wanted her to know about, and her eyes fairly snapped. Osterman must have realized that things were becoming a little shaky for he kept looking at first one and then another of us with a most unhappy look. He motioned for the pen and will. Klippert put down the board and I the paper, and he leaned forward and tried to grasp the pen. When he found he couldn’t he actually groaned: ‘The—the—I—I—I want to—to—do something—for—for—the—the—the—’ Then he fell back, and the next moment was dead. “But I wish you could have seen Klippert. It wasn’t anything he said or did, but just something that passed over his face, the shadow of a great cause or idea dying, let us say. Something seemed to go out from or die in him, just as old Osterman had died. He turned and went out without a word. I would have gone too, only Mrs. Osterman intercepted me. “You might think that at such a moment she would have been too wrought up to think of anything but her husband’s death, but she wasn’t. Far from it. Instead, as her husband was lying there, and right before the doctor, she came over to me and demanded to see the paper. I was folding it up to put into my pocket when she flicked it out of my hands. ‘I am sure you can have no objection to my seeing this,’ she said icily, and when I protested she added: ‘I am sure that I have a right to see my own husband’s will.’ I had only been attempting to spare her feelings, but when I saw what her attitude was I let it go at that and let her read it.