heir hands, red and
sticky, on their _lava-lavas_. Mackintosh held up the lamp. He had not
expected the old man to be so pale. His eyes were closed. He was
breathing still, his pulse could be just felt, but it was obvious that
he was dying. Mackintosh had not bargained for the shock of horror that
convulsed him. He saw that the native clerk was there, and in a voice
hoarse with fear told him to go into the dispensary and get what was
necessary for a hypodermic injection. One of the policemen had brought
up the whisky, and Mackintosh forced a little into the old man's mouth.
The room was crowded with natives. They sat about the floor, speechless
now and terrified, and every now and then one wailed aloud. It was very
hot, but Mackintosh felt cold, his hands and his feet were like ice, and
he had to make a violent effort not to tremble in all his limbs. He did
not know what to do. He did not know if Walker was bleeding still, and
if he was, how he could stop the bleeding.

The clerk brought the hypodermic needle.

"You give it to him," said Mackintosh. "You're more used to that sort of
thing than I am."

His head ached horribly. It felt as though all sorts of little savage
things were beating inside it, trying to get out. They watched for the
effect of the injection. Presently Walker opened his eyes slowly. He did
not seem to know where he was.

"Keep quiet," said Mackintosh. "You're at home. You're quite safe."

Walker's lips outlined a shadowy smile.

"They've got me," he whispered.

"I'll get Jervis to send his motor-boat to Apia at once. We'll get a
doctor out by to-morrow afternoon."

There was a long pause before the old man answered,

"I shall be dead by then."

A ghastly expression passed over Mackintosh's pale face. He forced
himself to laugh.

"What rot! You keep quiet and you'll be as right as rain."

"Give me a drink," said Walker. "A stiff one."

With shaking hand Mackintosh poured out whisky and water, half and half,
and held the glass while Walker drank greedily. It seemed to restore
him. He gave a long sigh and a little colour came into his great fleshy
face. Mackintosh felt extraordinarily helpless. He stood and stared at
the old man.

"If you'll tell me what to do I'll do it," he said.

"There's nothing to do. Just leave me alone. I'm done for."

He looked dreadfully pitiful as he lay on the great bed, a huge,
bloated, old man; but so wan, so weak, it was heart-rending. As he
rested,