ey are on, do not endeavour to pull them off," he explained.
"When they have gorged themselves, they will drop off. After that,
they will die unless you place them upon a dish of salt, when they will
sicken and disgorge the blood they have taken. Then, if you put them
back into a jar of fresh water, they will become lively as ever and
will soon be ready for further use."

"I hope to God I may not have to use them," I exclaimed fervently,
shuddering at the gruesome thoughts the sight of the hideous little
reptiles conjured up in me.

And I was saved from having to participate in the disgusting operation,
for, at the end of the week, Jake was seized through the night for the
second time. Toward morning, he revived and spoke to Rita and me like
the dear old Jake we used to know.

"Guess I got to pass in my checks, folks. I ain't been very good
neither. But I ain't done nobody no harm as I can mind;--nobody, but
maybe Jake Meaghan.

"Say, George! You like me,--don't you?"

"I like you for the real gentleman you are, Jake," I answered, laying
my hand on his brow.

"You like me too, Rita,--don't you?"

"You bet I do!" she replied, dropping back into the slang that Jake
best understood.

He was happy after that and smiled crookedly. But, in the early
morning, a violent fit of convulsions, in all its contorting agonies,
caught hold of him. His head at last dropped back on Rita's arm and
Jake Meaghan was no more.

I covered up his face with a sheet, and we closed the door, leaving the
faithful Mike alone by the bedside.

I led the little, sorrowing Rita down to her boat and kissed her as I
sent her across the Bay, home. Then, with a leaden heart, I went back,
to sit disconsolately in my own cottage, feeling as if I had lost a
part of myself in losing my old, eccentric, simple-minded friend.

I opened up the papers Jake had left in my care and, as I read his
will, it made me feel how little I knew of him after all and what a
strange way he had of working out his ideas to what he considered their
logical conclusion.

His will was a short document, and quite clear.

He wished to be buried in Vancouver. All he possessed, he left to Rita
'because Rita was always a good girl.' If Rita married George Bremner,
the ten thousand dollars lying in the bank was to become her own, under
her immediate and full control; but, should she marry any other man, or
should she remain unmarried for a period of three years fr