"It's a rotten death, boy," he whispered hoarsely; "a cur's bullet, that. Look after her for me. I'd rather—I'd rather hear the drums beating."
Arnold gripped him by the shoulders.
"Hold on to yourself, man!" he gasped. "There's a doctor coming—he's here already. Hold on to yourself, for all our sakes! We want you—Ruth will want you!"
Sabatini smiled very faintly. He was barely conscious.
"I'd rather have heard the drums," he muttered again.
CHAPTER XXXV
MR. WEATHERLEY RETURNS
It was twenty minutes past nine on a Saturday morning when the wonderful thing happened. Precisely at his accustomed hour, in his accustomed suit of gray clothes, and with his silk hat a little on the back of his head, Mr. Weatherley walked into his office, pausing as usual to knock the ash from his cigar before he entered the clerks' counting house. Twelve young men gazed at him in frank and undiluted amazement. As though absolutely unconscious of anything unusual, Mr. Weatherley grunted his "Good morning!" and passed on into the private room. Arnold and Mr. Jarvis were busy sorting the letters which had arrived by the morning's post. Mr. Weatherley regarded them with an expression of mingled annoyance and surprise.
"What the devil are you doing, opening the letters before I get here?" he exclaimed. "I'm punctual, am I not? Twenty-two minutes past nine to the tick. Get out of my chair, Jarvis!"