"Ah, I shouldn't do that if I were you," said Mr. Bouncing, urgently; "you're sure to be violent. I see you have a great deal of violence in you; you ought to control it. It's bad for your nerves. There are things I could tell you which would make you change your mind about young Rivers, but I don't know that I shall; it would excite me too much. I think I should like you to go down and telephone to Dr. Gurnet. Tell him my temperature is normal. It's a very odd thing; I haven't had a normal temperature for over three years. Perhaps I'm going to get better, after all. It's really only my breathing that's troubling me to-night. It would be funny if I got well, wouldn't it? But I mustn't talk any more; so don't come back until I knock in the night. Pass me the 'Pink 'Un.'" Winn passed him the "Pink 'Un" and raised him with one deft, strong movement more comfortably up on his pillows. "You've got quite a knack for this sort of thing," Mr. Bouncing observed. "If you'd been a clever man, you might have been a doctor." Mr. Bouncing did not knock during the night. Winn heard him stirring at ten o'clock, and went in. The final change had come very quickly. Mr. Bouncing was choking. He waved his hand as if the very appearance of Winn between him and the open balcony door kept away from him the air that he was vainly trying to breathe. Then a rush of blood came in a stream between his lips. Winn moved quickly behind him and lifted him in his arms. Mr. Bouncing was no weight at all, and he made very little sound. He was quite conscious, and the look in his eyes was more interested than alarmed. The rush of bleeding stopped suddenly; his breathing was weaker and quieter, but he no longer choked. "Look here, old man," Winn said, "let me get your wife." But Mr. Bouncing signaled to him not to move; after a time he whispered: "This is the first time I ever had hemorrhage. Most uncomfortable." "Do let me get your wife!" Winn urged again. "No," said Mr. Bouncing. "Women--not much good--after the first." "Don't talk any more then, old man," Winn pleaded. "You'll start that bleeding off again." But Mr. Bouncing made a faint clicking sound that might have been a laugh. "Too late," he whispered. "Don't matter now. No more risks. Besides, I'm too--too uncomfortable to live." There were several pauses in the hemorrhage, and at each pause Mr. Bouncing's mind came back to him as clear as glass. He spoke at intervals. "Not Rivers," he said, fixing Winn's eyes, "Roper--Roper." Then he leaned back on the strong shoulder supporting him. "Glad to go," he murmured. "Life has been--a damned nuisance. I've had--enough of it." Then again, between broken, flying breaths he whispered, "Lonely." "That's all right," Winn said gently. "You're not alone now. I've got hold of you." "No," whispered Mr. Bouncing, "no, I don't think you have."