Karl stopped as though he had reached the end of his story. But the silence was wearing on him. His eyes had a hunted look. "Why, you can see for yourself," he said--and this was the note of appeal--"that that could not make any vital difference." Dr. Parkman was looking at him narrowly. His own breath was coming hard. He saw at last that he would have to ask. "The--other?" he said, succeeding fairly well in gaining a tone of indifference. "Heavens--how you fellows nag for details! How you drag at a man! Well, the other--if you're so anxious to know"--the doctor's heart sank before the defiance of that--"the other is"--he looked all about him as one hunted, desperate, and then snapped it out and turned away, and instantly the room grew frightfully still. It struck Dr. Parkman like a blow from which one must have time to recover. Steeled though he was to the hearing of tragic facts, he was helpless for the minute before this. And then, refusing to let it close in upon him, it was he who turned recklessly assertive, defiantly insistent. "Any fool would know it's not that," he said, his gruff voice touched with bravado. There was one of those strange changes then. Karl turned and faced him. "How do you know?" he asked, with a calm not to be thrust aside. "How do you know it's not that? You can't be sure," he pursued, and there was fairly cunning in forcing his friend upon it, cutting off all escape, "but there are just fifty chances out of a hundred that it _is_ that. And if it is," with a cold, impersonal sort of smile--"would you give very much for my chances of sight?" "You're talking like a fool!"--but beads of perspiration were on the doctor's forehead. And then, the professional man getting himself in hand: "You're overworked, Karl. You're nervous. Why I can fix this up for you. I'll just--" but before that steady, understanding gaze he could not go on. "Not on me, Parkman--," slowly and very quietly--"not on me. I know the ropes. Don't try those little tricks on me. I don't need professional coddling, and I don't need professional lies. You see I happen to know just a little about the action of germs. We'll do the usual things, of course--that's mere scientific decency, but if this thing has really gotten in its work--oh I've studied these things a little too long, old man, I've watched them too many times, to be able to fool myself now." "Well you will at least admit," said Parkman--brusque because he was afraid to let himself be anything else--"that there are fifty chances out of a hundred in your favour?" Karl nodded; he had leaned back in his chair; he seemed terribly tired. "Come now, old chap--it isn't like you to surrender before the battle. We'll prepare to meet the foe--though I give you my word of honour I don't expect the enemy to show up. This isn't in the cards. I _know_ it."