old man," Winn said, "let me get your wife."

But Mr. Bouncing signaled to him not to move; after a time he
whispered:

"This is the first time I ever had hemorrhage. Most uncomfortable."

"Do let me get your wife!" Winn urged again.

"No," said Mr. Bouncing. "Women--not much good--after the first."

"Don't talk any more then, old man," Winn pleaded. "You'll start that
bleeding off again."

But Mr. Bouncing made a faint clicking sound that might have been a
laugh.

"Too late," he whispered. "Don't matter now. No more risks. Besides, I'm
too--too uncomfortable to live."

There were several pauses in the hemorrhage, and at each pause Mr.
Bouncing's mind came back to him as clear as glass. He spoke at
intervals.

"Not Rivers," he said, fixing Winn's eyes, "Roper--Roper." Then he
leaned back on the strong shoulder supporting him. "Glad to go," he
murmured. "Life has been--a damned nuisance. I've had--enough of it."
Then again, between broken, flying breaths he whispered, "Lonely."

"That's all right," Winn said gently.

"You're not alone now. I've got hold of you."

"No," whispered Mr. Bouncing, "no, I don't think you have."

There was no more violence now; his failing breath shook him hardly at
all. Even as he spoke, something in him was suddenly freed; his chest
rose slowly, his arm lifted then fell back, and Winn saw that he was no
longer holding Mr. Bouncing.

CHAPTER XVIII

He closed the balcony door; the cold air filled the room as if it were
still trying to come to the rescue of Mr. Bouncing. Winn had often done
the last offices for the dead before, but always out of doors. Mr.
Bouncing would have thought that a very careless way to die; he had
often told Winn that he thought nature most unpleasant.

When Winn had set the room in order he sat down by the table and
wondered if it would be wrong to smoke a cigarette. He wanted to smoke,
but he came to the conclusion that it wasn't quite the thing.

To-night was the ball for the international skaters--he ought to have
been there, of course. He had made Lionel go in his place, and had
written a stiff little note to Claire, asking her to give his dances to
his friend. He had Claire's answer in his pocket. "Of course I will, but
I'm awfully disappointed." She had spelled disappointed with two s's
and one p. Win had crushed the note into his pocket and not looked at it
since, but he took it out now. It wasn't like smoking a cigarette.
Bouncing