Donaldson was aroused by the dog which was at the door barking excitedly. It was broad daylight. As Donaldson sprang up he heard the brisk approach of footsteps, and the next second a key fumbling in the lock. Before he had fully recovered his senses the door swung open, and Barstow, tanned and ruddy, burst in. Donaldson stared at him and he stared at Donaldson. Then, striding over the dog, who yelped in protest at this treatment, Barstow approached the haggard, unshaven man who faced him.

"Good Heavens, Peter!" he cried, "what ails you?"

Donaldson put out his hand and the other grasped it with the clasp of a man in perfect health.

"Can\'t you speak?" he demanded. "What\'s the matter with you?"

"I \'m glad to see you," answered Donaldson.

"But what are you doing here in this condition? Are you sick?"

"No, I \'m not sick. I lay down on the sofa and I guess I fell asleep."

"You look as though you had been sleeping there a month. Sit down, man. You have a fever."

"There \'s your dog," said Donaldson.

Barstow turned. The dog, with his forefeet on Barstow\'s knee, was stretching his neck towards his master\'s hand.

"Hello, pup," he greeted him. "Did the janitor use you all right?" He shook him off.

Donaldson sat down. Barstow stood in front of him a moment and then reached to feel his pulse. It was normal.

"I \'m not sick, I tell you," said Donaldson, trying to laugh, "I was just all in. I came up here to see if you were back and slumped down on the couch. Then I fell asleep. There \'s your dog behind you."

"What of it?" demanded Barstow.

"Why—he looks glad to see you."

"What of that?"

"Nothing."

Barstow laid his hand on Donaldson\'s shoulder.

"Have you been drinking?" he asked.

"Drinking? No, but I\'ve a thirst a mile long. Any water around here?"

Barstow went to the closet and came back with a graduating glass full of lukewarm water. Donaldson swallowed it in a couple of gulps.

"Lord, that\'s good!"

Barstow again bent a perplexed gaze upon him.

"You have n\'t been fooling with any sort of dope, Peter?"

"No."

"This is straight?"

"Yes, that\'s straight," answered Donaldson impatiently. "I tell you that there is n\'t anything wrong with me except that I \'m fagged out."

"You did n\'t take my advice. You ought to have gone away. Why did n\'t you?"

"I \'ve been too busy. There\'s your dog."

Barstow hung down his hand, that the pup might lick the ends of his fingers.

"Peter," he burst out, "you ought to have been with me. If I \'d known about the trip I \'d have taken you. It was just what you needed—a week of lolling around a deck in the hot sun with the sea winds blowing over your face. That\'s what you want to do—get out under the blue sky and soak it in. If you don\'t believe it, look at me. Fit as a fiddle; strong as a moose. You said you wanted to sprawl in the sunshine,—why the devil don\'t you take a week off and do it?"

"Perhaps I will."

"That\'s the stuff. You must do it. You were in bad shape when I left, but, man dear, you \'re on the verge of a serious breakdown now. Do you realize it?"

"Yes, I realize it. That \'s a good dog of yours, Barstow."

"What\'s the matter with the pup? Seems to me you \'re taking a deuce of a lot of interest in him," he returned suspiciously.

"Dogs seem sort of human when you \'re alone with them."

"This one looks more human than you do. See here, Don, Lindsey said that he might start off again to-morrow on a short cruise to Newport. I think I can get you a berth with him. Will you go?"

"It\'s good of you, Barstow," answered Donaldson uneasily, "but I don\'t like to promise."

Would Barstow never call the dog by name? He could n\'t ask him directly; it would throw too much suspicion upon himself. If Barstow had left his laboratory that night for his trip, the chances were that the bottle was not yet missed. He must be cautious. It would be taking an unfair advantage of Barstow\'s friendship to allow him to feel that indirectly he had been responsible for the death of a human being. Donaldson glanced at his watch.

It had stopped.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"Half past nine."

Two hours and a half longer! He determined to remain here until eleven. If, up to that time, Barstow had not called the dog by name he would leave. He must write that letter and he must put himself as far out of reach of these friends as possible before the end. If he died on the train, his body would be put off at the next station and a local inquest held. The verdict would be heart disease; enough money would be found in his pocket to bury him; and so the matter would be dropped.

"I want you to promise, Don," ran on Barstow, "for I tell you that it\'s either a rest or the hospital for you. You have nervous prostration written big all over your face. I know how hard it is to make the initial effort to pull out when your brain is all wound up, but you \'ll regret it if you don\'t. And you \'ll like the crowd, Don. Lindsey is a hearty fellow, who hasn\'t anything to do but live—but he does that well. He\'s clean and square as a granite corner-stone. It will do you good to mix in with him.

"And his boat is a corker! He spent a quarter of a million on it, and he \'s got a French cook that would make a dead man eat. He \'ll put fat on your bones, Don, and Lindsey will make you laugh. You don\'t laugh enough, Don. You \'re too serious. And if you have such weather as we \'ve had this week you \'ll come back with a spirit that will boost your law practice double."

He felt of Donaldson\'s arm. It was thin and flabby.

"Good Heavens—here, feel of mine!"

Donaldson grasped it with his weak fingers. It was beastly thick and firm.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"It is twenty minutes of ten. Is time so important to you?"

"I must get down-town before long."

"Rot! Why don\'t you drop your business here and now. Let things rip."

"Where \'s the dog?" demanded Donaldson. The pup was out of sight. He felt strangely frightened. He got up and looked all about the room.

"Where \'s he gone?" he demanded again.

Barstow grasped him by the shoulder.

"You must pull yourself together," he said seriously. "You \'re heading for a worse place than the hospital."

"But where the devil has he gone? He was here a minute ago, was n\'t he?"

"Easy, easy," soothed Barstow. "Hold tight!"

"Find him, won\'t you, Barstow? Won\'t you find him?"

To quiet him Barstow whistled. The dog pounded his tail on the floor............