outcome of Grant Harlson's indisposition.

Jean sent for me the next morning. I found a look upon her face which
troubled me.

"Grant is not well," she said. "He came home late and spoke of an odd
feeling. We cared for him, but this morning he was listless and did
not want to dress and come to breakfast. He is in bed still. Please
go up and see him, and then come down to the library and tell me what
you think the matter is."

I went upstairs and found Grant lying in his bed and breathing heavily.
I shook him by the shoulder.

"What's the matter, old man?"

He turned over with an effort, though laughing. "I don't know," he
answered. "I only know I haven't been well since last night, and that
there is a queer feeling about my throat and chest. I ought to be up,
of course, but I'm listless and careless, somehow. By the way, what
were the totals?"

I gave him the figures, and he smiled, and then with an "Excuse me, old
man," turned his face to the wall. A moment later, as I sat watching
him, alarmed, he roused himself and turned toward me again. "Won't you
send Jean to me?" he asked.

I saw Jean, and she went upstairs, and when she came down her face was
white. The Ape, rugged young man as he was, had tears in his eyes, and
his brothers and sisters were crying quietly. I left the house, and an
hour later a physician, one of the most famous on the continent, was by
Grant Harlson's bedside. He was a personal friend of both of us. When
he came down his face was grave.

"What is it, Doctor?"

"It's pneumonia, and a bad case."

"What can we do?"

"Nothing, but to care for him and aid him with all hopefulness and
strength. He has vitality beyond one man in a thousand. He may throw
off all the incubus of it. But it has come suddenly and is growing."
Then he got mad in all his friendship, and blurted out: "Why didn't the
great blundering brute send for me when first he felt something he
couldn't meet nor understand?" And there were almost tears in his eyes.

The doctors have much to say about pneumonia. Doubtless they know of
what they talk, but pneumonia comes nevertheless, and defeats the
strong man and the doctors. The strong man it strangles. The doctors
it laughs at.

All that medical science could command was brought to the bedside of
Grant Harlson. The doctor, his friend, called in the wisest of
associates in consultation, and as for care--there was Jean! He was
cared for as the ang