ers on the white covering of his bed, while the doctors
drew near.

"Listen now, gentlemen," he began, still gasping with pain. "You're our
greatest living doctors, I'm told. Well, I'm not willing to die, I
won't die--do you hear? I'm only forty-nine years old. You see here
thirty millions in gilt-edged stocks and bonds. Well, there are three
of you, I'll give you ten millions each to take this stone off of my
breast that's smothering me and give me five years more of life. My
friend Stuart here is witness to this deed of gift--my word is pledged
before him and before God--I'll make good. Do you understand? Ten
millions each! Can you grasp the meaning, the sweep and power and
grandeur of such an offer? Now, gentlemen, do your best for me. Just
five years more--well, we won't haggle over terms--give me one year
more and I'll not complain!"

The three men of science stood with folded helpless arms and made no
effort to keep back the tears. They had seen many men die. It was
nothing new--and yet the pity and pathos of this strange appeal found
its way to the soul of each. They never envied a millionaire again.

They retired for another consultation. Stuart replaced the papers and
put the key in Bivens's outstretched hand.

It was plain that he was sinking rapidly.

"Ask Nan to come here a minute," he said feebly.

Stuart walked to the door and whispered to a servant. When he returned
to the bedside, the dying man looked up into his face gratefully.

"You don't know how it helps me to have you near, Jim, old boy. I'm
lonely! Nan I guess is ill and broken down. I've lavished millions on her.
I've given her all I possess in my will, but somehow we never found
happiness. If I could only have been sure of the deep, sweet, unselfish
love of one human soul on this earth! If I could only have won a girl's
heart when I was poor; but I was rich, and I've always wondered whether
she really loved me for my own sake. At least I've always thanked God for
you. You've been a real friend. Our hearts were young together and you
stood by me when--I--was--a--poor--lonely--friendless--dog----"

His voice sank low and he gasped painfully for breath. Stuart knew the
end had come. He bent low and whispered:

"Give me your hand, Cal, old boy, we must say goodbye. I must go in a
minute."

To his surprise the hand was not extended.

An hour later when the covering was turned back from the dead body he
saw that the smooth little cold han