The Doctor looked at the man, then at the skipper. "There is not a hope," he answered. "He is dying now."
The man heard and understood, he looked at the skipper and the skipper bent to his face. Something was asked, something was promised, and the two men, with one long farewell look, parted forever.
The Doctor soon found other patients, and he told Ian to watch by the dying sailor and to give him spoonsful of cold water as long as he could take them.
"Is that all that can be done?" inquired Ian.
"I will ask him," and he said, "Adam, you are in mortal pain—the pains of death—shall I give you something to ease them?"
"What can you give me?"
"Laudanum."
"No. I won't go to God drunk."
"You are right, Bork. Good-bye."
About dawning the dying man looked at Ian with such a piteous entreaty in his pale blue eyes that Ian felt he must, if possible, grant whatever he desired. Very slowly and distinctly he asked, "What—do—you—want—me—to—do?" and the answer came, as if from another world, muffled and far off, but thrilled with such an agonizing intensity that it struck Ian as if it was a physical blow,