“I make you my executor, Allan—­don’t need it in writing—­there isn’t time.”  He drew a sudden quivering breath.  “I have no will,” he muttered on.  “Never made one—­never thought of this.  Business life just starting—­booming!—­and I put in every cent!” There broke from him a low, bitter groan.  “Made my money settling other men’s muddles!  Never thought of making this mess of my own!  But even in mine—­I could save something still—­if I could be there—­if I could be there—­”

The sweat broke out on his temples, and Deborah laid her hand on his head.  “Sh-h-h,” she breathed.  He shut his eyes.

“Hard to think of anything any more.  I can’t keep clear.”  He shuddered with pain.  “Fix me for them,” he muttered to Baird.  “George and his mother.  Fix me up—­give me a couple of minutes clear.  And Deborah—­when you bring ’em in—­don’t let ’em know.  You understand?  No infernal last good-byes!” Deborah sharply set her teeth.

“No, dear, no,” she whispered.  She followed her father out of the room, leaving Allan bending over the bed with a hypodermic in his hand.  And when, a few moments later, George came in with his mother, they found Bruce soothed and quieted.  He even smiled as he reached up his hand.

“They say I’ve got to sleep, old girl—­just sleep and sleep—­it’ll do me good.  So you mustn’t stay in the room to-night.  Stay with the kiddies and get ’em to sleep.”  He was still smiling up at her.  “They say it’ll be a long time, little wife—­and I’m so sorry—­I was to blame.  If I’d done as you wanted and gone in their taxi.  Remember?  You said it might rain.”  He turned to George:  “Look here, my boy, I’m counting on you.  I’ll be sick, you know—­no good at all.  You must stand by your mother.”

George gulped awkwardly: 

“Sure I will, dad.”  His father sharply pressed his hand: 

“That’s right, old fellow, I know what you are.  Now good-night, son.  Good-night, Edith dear.”  He looked at her steadily just for a moment, then closed his eyes.  “Oh, but I’m sleepy,” he murmured.  “Good-night.”

And they left him.  Alone with Allan, Bruce looked up with a savage glare.

“Look here!” he snarled, between his teeth.  “If you think I’m going to lie here and die you’re mistaken!  I won’t!  I won’t let go!  I’ll show you chaps you can be wrong!  Been wrong before, haven’t you, thousands of times!  Why be so damnably sure about me?” He fell back suddenly, limp and weak.  “So damnably sure,” he panted.

“We’re never sure, my dear old boy,” said Allan very tenderly.  Again he was bending close over the bed.  “We’re not sure yet—­by any means.  You’re so strong, old chap, so amazingly strong.  You’ve given me hope—­”

“What are you sticking into my arm?” But Allan kept talking steadily on: 

“You’ve given me hope you’ll pull through still.  But not like this.  You’ve got to rest.  Let go, and try to go to sleep.”