As his hand neared the latch I could see in the dim light that
his movements were unsteady. Once he stumbled and clutched at the
bookcase for support----
"'Hold on,' I said--and I walked rapidly toward him--'don't go yet--you
are not well.'
"He leaned against the bookcase and put his hand to his side.
"I was alongside of him now, my arm under his, guiding him into a chair.
"'Are you faint?'
"'Yes--got a drop of anything, "Doc"? That's all I want. It ain't
nothing.'
"I opened my closet, took out a bottle of brandy and poured some into a
measuring-glass. He drank it, leaned his head for an instant against my
arm and, with the help of my hand slipped under his armpit, again
struggled to his feet.
"When I withdrew my hand it was covered with blood. It was too dark to
see the color, but I knew from the sticky feeling of it just what
it was.
"'My God! man,' I cried; 'you are hurt, your shirt's all bloody. Come
back here until I can see what's the matter.'
"'No, "Doc"--_no!_ I tell you.
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