ry about that,
Linn, or about anything; for you know you mustn't increase that
feverishness, or we shall have you a right-down, _bona-fide_ patient on
our hands; and then when will you get back to the theatre again? I am
going out now to telegraph to Lehmann. But I don't think I need alarm
the Winstead people; you see, they don't read the Sunday papers; and,
indeed, if I send a note now to Francie, she will get it the first thing
in the morning. Linn," he continued, after a moment's hesitation, "are
you too much upset by your own affairs to listen to a bit of news? I
came with the intention of telling you, but perhaps I'd better wait
until you get over these present troubles."

Lionel looked at him, with those bright, restless eyes, for a second or
two, as if to gather something from his expression; and then he wrote:

"Is it about Francie?"

Maurice nodded; it was enough. Lionel stretched out his hot hand and
took that of his companion.

"I am glad," he said, in a low voice. And then, after a moment or two's
thinking, he turned to his writing again: "Well, it _is_ hard, Maurice.
I have been looking forward to this for many a day, and have been
wondering how I should congratulate you both. And I get the news
now--when I'm ruined. I haven't enough money even to buy a
wedding-present for Francie!"

"Do you think she will mind that?" Mangan said, cheerfully. "But I'm
going to send her your good wishes, Linn--now, when I write. And look
here, if she should come up to see you, or your father and mother--for
it is quite possible the doctors may insist on your giving your voice a
rest for a considerable while--well, if they should come up from
Winstead, mind you say nothing about your monetary troubles. They
needn't be mentioned to anybody, nor need they worry you; I dare say I
shall be able to get something more done; it will be all right. Only, if
the Winstead people should come up, don't you say anything to them about
these monetary affairs, or connect me with them; for it might put me
into an awkward position--you understand?"

And the last words Lionel wrote on the block of paper before Mangan went
out to execute his various commissions were these:

"You are a good friend, Maurice."

When the doctors arrived in the afternoon, Mangan had come back. They
found Lionel complaining of acute headache and a burning thirst; his
skin hot and dry; pulse full and quick; also, he seemed drowsy and
heavy, though his eyes ret