"If he arrives, tell him to hasten to Mr. Corkey's. Mr. Corkey is fatally ill with pneumonia. He must see Mr. Chalmers." Twenty-four hours pass, with Corkey no better--moaning and asking for Chalmers. All other affairs are as nothing. Chalmers does not come. Twenty-four hours more go by. The doctor now allows none of the comrades to see the sick man. He does not roll and toss so much. But he inquires feebly and constantly for Chalmers. At midnight he calls his wife. "You've heard me speak of Chalmers, sissy," he says. There is a ring on the door of the flat. "That's him now." But it is a neighbor, come to stay the night out. "Lock the door. Open that drawer, sissy. Get out that big letter." The trembling little woman obeys. "Sissy, did you know we was broke?" "Our gold?" "Yes, it's all gone; every nickel. But I wouldn't bother you with that if Chalmers would come. Now, don't cry, and listen, for I'm awful sick. This letter here is to Mrs. Lockwin, and it will fix _you_. And I want to see Chalmers, to see that he stands by her. See?" The wife listens. She knows there is a letter to Mrs. Lockwin. "Now I'm going to give something away. When I see Chalmers in his drug store, he sits on his chair so I know it's a dead ringer on Lockwin. Chalmers is Lockwin, sissy. Don't you blow it. I've never told a soul till you. I've schemed and schemed to fix it up, but I never see a man in such a hole. He don't know I'm onto him. But I've no use for this Harpwood, that did me up when he had no need to. I wasn't in his way. A week from Thursday night Harpwood is to marry Mrs. Lockwin. It isn't no good. I want you to see Lockwin, and tell him for me that if his story gets out it wasn't me, and I want you to tell him for me that he mustn't let that poor widow commit no bigamy. It's an awful hole, that's what it is! It is tough on him!" He has worked on the problem for years. The man groans. There is a rap on the door. "Hold up a minute. I wouldn't mix in it, but I've done a good deal for the two of 'em, and I've lost a good deal by Harpwood's play on me. I expect Harpwood will set her against you, and I want her to do for you, pretty. So you tell Lockwin he must act quick, and mustn't let her commit no bigamy. She's too good a woman, and you need money bad, sissy. All my twenty-pieces! All my twenty-pieces! My yellow stuff! Will you see Chalmers, sissy? Call him Chalmers. He's Lockwin, just the same, but call him Chalmers." The wife kisses her husband, and puts the letter back in the drawer. "Sissy." "Yes." "I forgot one thing. Git a little mourning handkerchief out of my hip-pocket. There ain't no gun there. You needn't be afraid." The woman at last secures a handkerchief which looks the worse for Corkey's long, though reverent, custody.