Mr. Bouncing did not knock during the night. Winn heard him stirring at ten o’clock, and went in. The final change had come very quickly. Mr. Bouncing was choking. He waved his hand as if the very appearance of Winn between him and the open balcony door kept away from him the air that he was vainly trying to breathe. Then a rush of blood came in a stream between his lips. Winn moved quickly behind him and lifted him in his arms.
Mr. Bouncing was no weight at all, and he made very little sound. He was quite conscious, and the look in his eyes was more interested than alarmed. The rush of bleeding stopped suddenly; his breathing was weaker and quieter, but he no longer choked.
“Look here, old man,” Winn said, “let me get your wife.”
But Mr. Bouncing signaled to him not to move; after a time he whispered:
“This is the first time I ever had hemorrhage. Most uncomfortable.”
“Do let me get your wife!” Winn urged again.
“No,” said Mr. Bouncing. “Women — not much good — after the first.”
“Don’t talk any more then, old man,” Winn pleaded. “You’ll start that bleeding off again.”
But Mr. Bouncing made a faint clicking sound that might have been a laugh.
“Too late,” he whispered. “Don’t matter now. No more risks. Besides, I’m too — too uncomfortable to live.”