ing. That John Harkless, of
all men, should lie stifled with ether, and bandaged and splintered,
and smeared with horrible unguents, while they stabbed and slashed
and tortured him, and made an outrage and a sin of that grand, big,
dexterous body of his! Meredith shuddered. The lights in the little
ward were turned up, and they seemed to shine from a chamber of
horrors, while he waited, as a brother might have waited outside the
Inquisition--if, indeed, a brother would have been allowed to wait
outside the Inquisition.

Alas, he had found John Harkless! He had "lost track" of him as men
sometimes do lose track of their best beloved, but it had always been a
comfort to know that Harkless _was_--somewhere, a comfort without which
he could hardly have got along. Like others he had been waiting for John
to turn up--on top, of course; for people would always believe in him
so, that he would be shoved ahead, no matter how much he hung back
himself--but Meredith had not expected him to turn up in Indiana. He had
heard vaguely that Harkless was abroad, and he had a general expectation
that people would hear of him over there some day, with papers like the
"Times" beseeching him to go on missions. And he found him here, in his
own home, a stranger, alone and dying, receiving what ministrations were
reserved for Jerry the Teller. But it was Helen Sherwood who had found
him. He wondered how much those two had seen of each other, down there
in Plattville. If they had liked each other, and Harkless could have
lived, he thought it might have simplified some things for Helen. "Poor
Helen!" he exclaimed aloud. Her telegram had a ring, even in the barren
four sentences. He wondered how much they had liked each other. Perhaps
she would wish to come at once. When those fellows came out of the room
he would send her a word by telegraph.

When they came out--ah! he did not want them to come out; he was afraid.
They were an eternity--why didn't they come? No; he hoped they would not
come, just now. In a little time, in a few minutes, even, he would not
dread a few words so much; but _now_ he couldn't quite bear to be told
he had found his friend only to lose him, the man he had always most
needed, wanted, loved. Everybody had always cared for Harkless, wherever
he went. That _he_ had always cared for everybody was part of the
reason, maybe. Meredith remembered, now, hearing a man who had spent a
day in Plattville on business speak of him: "