When the comrades next see Corkey he is down with pneumonia.  His fever rages.  Sores break out about his mouth.  “I have a friend I want to find awful bad,” he says, fretting and rolling.  “Chalmers!  He runs a drug store at 803 State street, down beyond Eighteenth.  But I’m afraid he ain’t to be found.  I’m afraid he’s disappeared.  I couldn’t find him last week, nor last night, but it was pretty late when I git down there.”

The doctor is grave.  “He must not worry.  Find this Chalmers.  Tell him he must come at once if he wishes to make his friend easier.”

“I must see Chalmers.  I’m sicker than they think.  I’m tired out.  I can’t stand such a fever.  That pillow’s wet.  That’s better.  It’s cold, though.  I guess my fever’s going.  Now I’m getting hot again.  I do want to see Chalmers.”

The patient tosses and fumes.  The comrades hurry to Chalmers’ drug store, as others have done.

“The proprietor is out of the city,” the clerk answers to all inquirers.  “He left no address.”

“If he arrives, tell him to hasten to Mr. Corkey’s.  Mr. Corkey is fatally ill with pneumonia.  He must see Mr. Chalmers.”

Twenty-four hours pass, with Corkey no better—­moaning and asking for Chalmers.  All other affairs are as nothing.

Chalmers does not come.

Twenty-four hours more go by.  The doctor now allows none of the comrades to see the sick man.

He does not roll and toss so much.  But he inquires feebly and constantly for Chalmers.

At midnight he calls his wife.  “You’ve heard me speak of Chalmers, sissy,” he says.

There is a ring on the door of the flat.

“That’s him now.”

But it is a neighbor, come to stay the night out.

“Lock the door.  Open that drawer, sissy.  Get out that big letter.”

The trembling little woman obeys.

“Sissy, did you know we was broke?”

“Our gold?”

“Yes, it’s all gone; every nickel.  But I wouldn’t bother you with that if Chalmers would come.  Now, don’t cry, and listen, for I’m awful sick.  This letter here is to Mrs. Lockwin, and it will fix you.  And I want to see Chalmers, to see that he stands by her.  See?”

The wife listens.  She knows there is a letter to Mrs. Lockwin.

“Now I’m going to give something away.  When I see Chalmers in his drug store, he sits on his chair so I know it’s a dead ringer on Lockwin.  Chalmers is Lockwin, sissy.  Don’t you blow it.  I’ve never told a soul till you.  I’ve schemed and schemed to fix it up, but I never see a man in such a hole.  He don’t know I’m onto him.  But I’ve no use for this Harpwood, that did me up when he had no need to.  I wasn’t in his way.  A week from Thursday night Harpwood is to marry Mrs. Lockwin.  It isn’t no good.  I want you to see Lockwin, and tell him for me that if his story gets out it wasn’t me, and I want you to tell him for me that he mustn’t let that poor widow commit no bigamy.  It’s an awful hole, that’s what it is!  It is tough on him!”