his voice clear and steady. The eloquent eyes never
moved from his face till the reading was finished. Then the doctor
put the letter into his big, hairy hand so muscular and so feeble.
The fingers closed upon it and with difficulty carried it to the man's
bosom. For a moment the eyes remained closed as if in peace, but only
for a moment. Once more they rested entreatingly upon the doctor's face.

"Something else in your pocket?"

The doctor continued drawing forth the articles one by one till he came
to a large worn pocketbook.

"This?"

With an effort the head nodded an affirmation. From the innermost pocket
he drew a little photograph of a young girl. A light came into the eyes
of the dying man. He took the photograph which the doctor placed in his
hand and carried it painfully to his lips. Once more the eyes began to
question.

"You want something else from your pocketbook? If so, close your eyes."
The eyes remained wide open. "No? You want me to do something for you?
To write?" At once the eyes closed. "I shall write to your mother and
send all your things and tell them about you." A smile spread over the
face and the eyes closed as if content. In a few minutes, however, they
opened wide again. In vain the doctor tried to catch the meaning. The
lips began to move. Putting his ear close, the doctor caught the word
"Thank."

"Thank who? The teamster?"

The man moved his hand and touched the doctor's with his fingers.

"Thank me? My dear fellow, I only wish I could help you," said the
doctor. "Anything else?"

The eyes looked upward toward the ceiling, then rested beseechingly upon
the doctor's face again. Vainly the doctor sought to gather his meaning,
till, with a mighty effort, poor Scotty tried to speak. Once more,
putting his ear close to the lips, the doctor caught the words,
"Mother--home," and again the eyes turned upward toward the ceiling.

"You wish me to tell your mother that you are going home?" And once more
a glad smile lit up the distorted face.

For some minutes there was silence in the room. Up from the bar, through
the thin partition, came the sounds of oaths and laughter and drunken
song. The doctor cursed them all below his breath and turned toward the
door. A spasm of coughing brought him back to his patient's side. After
the spasm had passed the sick man lay still, his eyes closed, and his
breath becoming shorter every moment. Once again the eyes made their
appeal, and the doctor