ason--the one she hid from herself deep in the darkest
sub-cellar of her mind, was the real reason. It is one matter to wish
for a person's death. Only a villainous nature can harbor such a wish,
can admit it except as a hastily and slyly in-crawling impulse, to be
flung out the instant it is discovered. It is another matter to
calculate--very secretly, very unconsciously--upon a death that seems
inevitable anyhow. Jane had only to look at her father to feel that he
would not be spared to her long. The mystery was how he had kept alive
so long, how he continued to live from day to day. His stomach was
gone; his whole digestive apparatus was in utter disorder. His body
had shriveled until he weighed no more than a baby. His pulse was so
feeble that even in the hot weather he complained of the cold and had
to be wrapped in the heaviest winter garments. Yet he lived on, and his
mind worked with undiminished vigor.

When Jane reached home, the old man was sitting on the veranda in the
full sun. On his huge head was a fur cap pulled well down over his
ears and intensifying the mortuary, skull-like appearance of his face.
Over his ulster was an old-fashioned Scotch shawl such as men used to
wear in the days before overcoats came into fashion. About his wasted
legs was wrapped a carriage robe, and she knew that there was a
hot-water bag under his feet. Beside him sat young Doctor Charlton,
whom Jane had at last succeeded in inducing her father to try.
Charlton did not look or smell like a doctor. He rather suggested a
professional athlete, perhaps a better class prize fighter. The
weazened old financier was gazing at him with a fascinated
expression--admiring, envious, amused.

Charlton was saying:

"Yes, you do look like a dead one. But that's only another of your
tricks for fooling people. You'll live a dozen years unless you commit
suicide. A dozen years? Probably twenty."

"You ought to be ashamed to make sport of a poor old invalid," said
Hastings with a grin.

"Any man who could stand a lunch of crackers and milk for ten years
could outlive anything," retorted Charlton. "No, you belong to the old
stock. You used to see 'em around when you were a boy. They usually
coughed and wheezed, and every time they did it, the family used to get
ready to send for the undertaker. But they lived on and on. When did
your mother die?"

"Couple of years ago," said Hastings.

"And your father?"

"He was ki