"That's the stuff. You must do it. You were in bad shape when I left, but, man dear, you 're on the verge of a serious breakdown now. Do you realize it?" "Yes, I realize it. That 's a good dog of yours, Barstow." "What's the matter with the pup? Seems to me you 're taking a deuce of a lot of interest in him," he returned suspiciously. "Dogs seem sort of human when you 're alone with them." "This one looks more human than you do. See here, Don, Lindsey said that he might start off again to-morrow on a short cruise to Newport. I think I can get you a berth with him. Will you go?" "It's good of you, Barstow," answered Donaldson uneasily, "but I don't like to promise." Would Barstow never call the dog by name? He could n't ask him directly; it would throw too much suspicion upon himself. If Barstow had left his laboratory that night for his trip, the chances were that the bottle was not yet missed. He must be cautious. It would be taking an unfair advantage of Barstow's friendship to allow him to feel that indirectly he had been responsible for the death of a human being. Donaldson glanced at his watch. It had stopped. "What time is it?" he asked. "Half past nine." Two hours and a half longer! He determined to remain here until eleven. If, up to that time, Barstow had not called the dog by name he would leave. He must write that letter and he must put himself as far out of reach of these friends as possible before the end. If he died on the train, his body would be put off at the next station and a local inquest held. The verdict would be heart disease; enough money would be found in his pocket to bury him; and so the matter would be dropped. "I want you to promise, Don," ran on Barstow, "for I tell you that it's either a rest or the hospital for you. You have nervous prostration written big all over your face. I know how hard it is to make the initial effort to pull out when your brain is all wound up, but you 'll regret it if you don't. And you 'll like the crowd, Don. Lindsey is a hearty fellow, who hasn't anything to do but live--but he does that well. He's clean and square as a granite corner-stone. It will do you good to mix in with him. "And his boat is a corker! He spent a quarter of a million on it, and he 's got a French cook that would make a dead man eat. He 'll put fat on your bones, Don, and Lindsey will make you laugh. You don't laugh enough, Don. You 're too serious. And if you have such weather as we 've had this week you 'll come back with a spirit that will boost your law practice double." He felt of Donaldson's arm. It was thin and flabby. "Good Heavens--here, feel of mine!" Donaldson grasped it with his weak fingers. It was beastly thick and firm. "What time is it?" he asked. "It is twenty minutes of ten. Is time so important to you?" "I must get down-town before long." "Rot! Why don't you drop your business here and now. Let things rip."