h contained as charming a picture as
that.

And then, too quickly, the moment of clearness passed; and he was
troubled about the "Herald," beseeching those near him to put copies
of the paper in his hands, threatening angrily to believe they were
deceiving him, that his paper had suspended, if the three issues of
the week were not instantly produced. What did they mean by keeping the
truth from him? He knew the "Herald" had not come out. Who was there to
get it out in his absence? He raised himself on his elbow and struggled
to be up; and they had hard work to quiet him.

But the next night Meredith waited near his bedside, haggard and
dishevelled. Harkless had been lying in a long stupor; suddenly he
spoke, quite loudly, and the young surgeon, Gay, who leaned over him,
remembered the words and the tone all his life.

"Away and away--across the waters," said John Harkless. "She was
here--once--in June."

"What is it, John?" whispered Meredith, huskily. "You're easier, aren't
you?"

And John smiled a little, as if, for an instant, his swathed eyes
penetrated the bandages, and saw and knew his old friend again.

That same night a friend of Rodney McCune's sent a telegram from Rouen:
"He is dying. His paper is dead. Your name goes before convention in
September."

CHAPTER XIII. JAMES FISBEE

On Monday morning three men sat in council in the "Herald" office; that
is, if staring out of dingy windows in a demented silence may be
called sitting in council; that was what Mr. Fisbee and Parker and Ross
Schofield were doing. By almost desperate exertions, these three and Bud
Tipworthy had managed to place before the public the issues of the paper
for the previous week, unaided by their chief, or, rather, aided by long
accounts of his condition and the manner of his mishap; and, in
truth, three copies were at that moment in the possession of Dr. Gay,
accompanied by a note from Parker warning the surgeon to exhibit them to
his patient only as a last resort, as the foreman feared the perusal of
them might cause a relapse.

By indiscriminate turns, acting as editors, reporters, and
typesetters--and particularly space-writers--the three men had worried
out three issues, and part of the fourth (to appear the next morning)
was set up; but they had come to the end of their string, and there were
various horrid gaps yet to fill in spite of a too generous spreading of
advertisements. Bud Tipworthy had been sent out to bes