“Is there? I never saw it. What has he been doing? Getting into trouble?” “Getting out of it. He died at my house this morning.” “What of? Fever?” “No, drink. I found him two days ago in his hut on the Pacific slope, and brought him here. One can not drink safely in this climate. Nature is beneficent, she gives much,” the doctor waved his hand, “but she also exacts much. One can not drink here, and live.” “Oh, nonsense, Doctor,” said Vickers, “look at me. I’m as sound as a dollar.” “What I want of you,” said the other, “is to write to his family. My English is not sufficient to make him out a hero, and,” he added, with a smile, “when we write home they are always heroes. Will you undertake it?” “Sure,” said Vickers, swinging a light leg over the mare’s head. As he stepped to the ground, one could see his great height, an inch or two over six feet. “You know,” the doctor went on persuasively, as they walked up the steps into the house, “that he might just as well have died, as you suggested, of fever.” “Fever, pooh!” exclaimed Vickers. “How tame! We must think of something better than that. Would fever be any consolation to the survivors? No, no, my dear Nuñez, something great, something inspiring. ‘My dear Madame, your son, after a career unusually useful and self-denying’ (the worthless dog), ‘has just met a death as noble as any I have ever seen or heard of. A group of children--’ No, ‘a group of little children returning from school were suddenly attacked by an immense and ferocious _tigre_----’” “Oh, come, Don Luis,” murmured the doctor, “who ever heard of a _tigre_ attacking a group?” “My dear Señor Doctor,” replied Vickers, “I perceive with regret that you are a realist. I myself am all for romance, pure ethereal romance. I scorn fact, and by Heaven, if I can’t describe a _tigre_ so that Lee’s mother will believe in it, I’ll eat my hat.” “In that case,” returned the doctor dryly, “I suppose it is unnecessary to mention that Lee does not seem to have a mother.” “Oh, well,” said Vickers, in evident discouragement, “if a fellow hasn’t got a mother, that prohibits pathos at once. A wife? At least a sister?” Nuñez shook his head. “Nothing but a father,” he said firmly. Vickers flung himself into a chair with his legs very far apart and his hands in his pockets. “Now, how in thunder,” he said, “can I get up any interest in a father? A father probably knew all about Lee, and very likely turned him out of the house. A father will think it all for the best. Or no, perhaps not. An old white-haired clergyman--Lee was just the fellow to be a clergyman’s son.” “I am often glad that I belong to a religion whose priests do not marry,” said the doctor. “Let me get you Lee’s papers.” They made but a small bundle and most of them were bills, unreceipted. Vickers drew out one with an American stamp. It was dated Hilltop, Connecticut. Vickers read: