spoke again. Then
Keyork looked up. This time his voice was smooth and persuasive. His
irritability had all disappeared.

"You must be tired," he said. "Why do you not go home? Or else go to my
house and wait for us. The Individual and I can take care of him very
well."

"Thanks," replied the Wanderer with a slight smile. "I am not in the
least tired, and I prefer to stay where I am. I am not hindering you, I
believe."

Now Keyork Arabian had no interest in allowing Israel Kafka to die,
though the Wanderer half believed that he had, though he could not
imagine what that interest might be. The little man was in reality on
the track of an experiment, and he knew very well that so long as he was
so narrowly watched it would be quite impossible to try it. In spite of
his sneers at his companion's ignorance, he was aware that the latter
knew enough to make every effort conducive to reviving the patient if
left to himself, and he submitted with a bad grace to doing what he
would rather have left undone.

He would have wished to let the flame of life sink yet lower before
making it brighten again, for he had with him a preparation which he
had been carrying in his pocket for months in the hope of accidentally
happening upon just such a case as the present, and he longed for an
opportunity of trying it. But to give it a fair trial he wished to apply
it at the precise point when, according to all previous experience, the
moment of death was past--the moment when the physician usually puts
his watch in his pocket and looks about for his hat. Possibly if
Kafka, being left without any assistance, had shown no further signs of
sinking, Keyork would have helped him to sink a little lower. To produce
this much-desired result, he had nothing with him but the ether, of
which the Wanderer of course knew the smell and understood the effects.
He saw the chances of making the experiment upon an excellent subject
slipping away before his eyes and he grew more angry in proportion as
they seemed farther removed.

"He is a little better," he said discontentedly, after another long
interval of silence.

The Wanderer bent down and saw that the eyelids were quivering and that
the face was less deathly livid than before. Then the eyes opened and
stared dreamily at the glass roof.

"And I will," said the faint, weak voice, as though completing a
sentence.

"I think not," observed Keyork, as though answering. "The people who do
what they