Yet there were many nights during the long sickness--lasting to March 26--when following a number of good days he would sink into a state of collapse, and then both nurses would remain up together. As Warren did his home work in the forenoon, which was also his mother's busiest time, the nurse prepared the patient's breakfast and gave it to him; but seeing that he really preferred Mary's presence to her own, she often exchanged work with her, and the only actual difference was that Walt had three nurses instead of two. Getting the sick room into order was a tedious task. The nurse was directed to leave every scrap of paper with writing upon it in the room, to remove only the newspapers, magazines, circulars, bound books, wrapping papers and so on. Then there were days when it was evident that Mr. Whitman wished to be alone, other days when he was very low and could not be disturbed, still other days when he had long visits from friends; and the work would have to be postponed for the time being. All the newspapers and magazines were stacked upon the landing outside the anteroom door; the books--usually dropped anywhere, open--were placed upon the pine shelves; the manuscripts were piled upon one side of the sick room, and the old envelopes, wrapping paper and odds and ends of string alone were thrown away. Warren's desk came in nicely, and seated at this the nurse wrote her record, going into the details and minutiæ of the case, as she had been instructed. In this Warren took his part, and as he knew most of the people who called, his information and night notes were a valuable addition. A cot under the shelves in the anteroom, which had served as a bed for the nurses at night and a settee by day, was taken out and a comfortable lounge substituted, which had been hidden from view under the débris in the other room. This gave both rooms a better appearance, besides providing a more comfortable seat and sleeping place. Mr. Whitman did not take medicine with regularity; only when some acute pain or persistent discomfort rendered it essential. His temperature was never taken, his pulse and respiration but seldom; and in no way was he roused up, except for an unavoidable cause, or perhaps to meet company. He fully understood his own condition, and pleaded for but one thing: rest. When he had his poor days--when it seemed that he could not again rally--he saw no one, and in the last two months he wished to see few beside his nurses, his two doctors (Dr. Alex. McAlister of Camden, and Dr. Longaker of Philadelphia), and his faithful Mary. He said that others tired him, and yet many saw him and held conversations with him, even at this late stage in his life. Colonel Ingersoll came twice, and sent him a basket of champagne, of which he took sparingly from time to time.