“You think I’m not able, do you?” asked Craik, his rough whisper rising to a growl. “Well, I am. I’m not dead yet, so get him quickly.”
The doctor left the room without further delay, to give the necessary orders. When he returned, Mr. Craik was lying with his eyes wide open, staring at the fire.
“Give me something, can’t you?” he said with more energy than he had shown that day.
The doctor began to think that it was not yet all up with his patient, as he mixed something in a glass and gave it to him. Craik drank eagerly and moved his stiffened lips afterwards as though he had enjoyed the taste of the drink.
“I may not jockey the undertaker,” he grumbled, “but I shall last till morning, anyhow.”
Nearly half an hour elapsed before Sherrington Trimm reached the house, but during all that time Thomas Craik did not close his eyes again. His face looked less waxen, too, and his sight seemed to have recovered some of the light that had been fading out of it by degrees all day. The doctor watched him with interest, wondering, as doctors must often wonder, what was passing in his brain, what last, unspent remnant of life’s passions had caused so sudden a revival of his energy, and whether this manifestation of strength were the last flare of the dying lamp, or whether Tom Craik, to use his own words, would jockey the undertaker, as he had jockeyed many another adversary in his stirring existence.
The door opened, and Sherrington Trimm entered the room. He was a short, active man, slightly inclined to be stout, bald and very full about the chin and neck, with sharp, movable blue eyes, and a closely-cut, grizzled moustache. His hands were plump, white and pointed, his feet were diminutive and his dress was irreproachable. He had a habit of turning his head quickly to the right and left when he spoke, as though challenging contradiction. He came briskly to the bedside and took one of Craik’s wasted hands in his, with a look of honest sympathy.
“How are you, Tom?” he inquired, suppressing his cheerful voice to a sort of subdued chirp.
“According to him,” growled Craik, glancing at the doctor, “I believe I died this afternoon. However, I want to make my will, so get out your tools, Sherry, and set to. Please leave us alone,” he added, looking up at the physician.
The latter went out, taking the attendant with him.