To this the young Southerner made no response, for his mind was busy in going over the antidotes for various poisons. Then he aroused himself and shook his shoulders, and laughed at his own preoccupation. The Irishman did not approve of this. "An' of coorse," he continued, "it may be a scrap 'twixt a ginny and a Polander; or maybe, now, a coon has gone for a chink wid a razzer, and sliced him most in two, I dunno'." Then he clanged the bell unexpectedly, and swerved off the track and down a side street toward the river. The doctor soon found a curious crowd flattening their noses against the windows of a drug-store on a corner of the Boulevard. He sprang off as the driver slowed down to turn and back up. A policeman stood in the doorway of the pharmacist's, swinging his club by its string as he kept the children outside. He drew back to let the young surgeon pass, saying, as he did so: "It's no use now, I think, Doctor. You are too late." The body of the man lay flat on the tile pavement of the shop. He was decently dressed, but his shoes were worn and patched. He was a very large man, too, stout even for his length. His cravat had been untied and his collar had been opened. His face was covered with a torn handkerchief. As the doctor dropped on his knees by the side of the body, the druggist's clerk came from behind the prescription counter--a thin, undersized, freckled youngster, with short red hair and a trembling voice. "He's dead, ain't he?" asked this apparition. The doctor finished his examination of the man on the floor, and then he answered, as he rose to his feet: "Yes, he's dead. How did it happen?" The delivery of the young druggist was hesitating and broken. "Well, it was this way, you see. The boss was out, and I was in charge here, and there wasn't anything doing except at the fountain. Then this man came in; he was in a hurry, and he told me he was feeling faint--kind of suffocated, so he said--and couldn't I give him something. Well, I'm a graduate in pharmacy, you know, and so I fixed him up a little aromatic spirits of ammonia in a glass of soda-water. You know that won't hurt anybody. But just as he took the glass out of my hand his knees gave way and he squashed down on the floor there. The glass broke, and he hadn't paid for the spirits of ammonia, either; and when I got round to him he was dead--at least I thought so, but I rang you up to make sure." "Yes," the doctor returned, "apparently he died at once--heart failure. Probably he had fatty degeneration, and this heat has been too much for him." "I don't think any man has a right to come in here and die like that without warning, heart failure or no heart failure, do you?" asked the red-headed assistant. "I don't know what the boss will say. That's the kind of thing that spoils trade, and it ain't any too good here, anyway, with a drug-store 'most every block." "Do you know who he is?" the doctor inquired.