James never knew how long he was in that room with Gordon listening to those frenzied ravings, and striving with him to keep the man from injuring himself.  The daylight waned, James lighted a lamp.  Then a mighty creaking was heard outside, and Georgie K., himself bearing a great supper tray, knocked at the door.  “It’s me, and I brought you something,” he shouted, and then they heard his retreating footsteps.  Much delicacy was there in Georgie K., and much affection for Doctor Gordon.

James brought in the tray, and now and then he and Gordon took advantage of a slight lull to take a bite, but neither had any desire for food.  It was only the instinctive sense that they must keep up their strength in order that nobody else should hear what they were hearing, that forced them to eat and drink.  Well into the evening the ravings stopped suddenly, the man fell back upon his pillow, and lay still.  James thought at first that all was over, but presently stertorous breathing began.

“Now get Georgie K. up,” Gordon said hoarsely.  “There is no further need for us to be alone, and there will be directions to be given.”

James went out and found Georgie K. sitting up in his bar-room.

“Doctor Gordon wants you,” he said.

“How is he?” asked Georgie K., following James.

“Dying.”

Georgie K. made an indescribable sound in his throat as the two men ascended the stair.

The man was a long time dying.  It seemed to James as if that awful struggle of the soul for release from the body would never cease.  He knew, or thought he knew, that there was no suffering to the dying man, but, after all, the sounds as of suffering seemed almost to prove it.  Gordon whispered for a while to Georgie K., as if the dying man might be disturbed by audible speech.  Then Georgie K. tiptoed out in his creaking boots, and James knew that some arrangements were to be perfected for the last services to the dead.  Gordon stood over the bed, with his own face as ghastly as that of its occupant.  James dared not speak to him.

It was midnight when the dreadful breathing ceased, and there was silence.  Georgie K. had returned.  The three living men looked at one another with ghastly understanding of what had happened, then they hastily arranged some matters.  The dead man was decently composed and dressed, his throat swathed anew in linen handkerchiefs, and another handkerchief laid over the discolored face, which had in death a strange peace, as if relieved of an uneasy and wearing tenant.  Before Georgie K. went out, the village undertaker had been summoned, and had been waiting for some time in the parlor with a young assistant.  They mounted the stairs bearing some appurtenances of their trade.  Gordon addressed the undertaker briefly, giving some directions, then he motioned to James, and they passed out.  Georgie K. remained in the room.  He prevented the undertaker from removing the linen swathe on the dead man’s throat.  “Doc says it’s catching,” he said, and the undertaker drew back quickly.