"Well," reflected Barstow, "Sandy had his week; beefsteak, bread and milk, all he could eat."
"Is n't that better than being still alive,—hungry in the gutters?"
"God knows," answered Barstow solemnly, as he picked up the body and carried it into the next room. "You see what is left."
As Barstow went out, Donaldson crossed to the chemist's desk. He fumbled nervously among the bottles until he found the little vial Barstow had pointed out. He had just time to thrust this into his pocket and reseat himself before Barstow returned. At the same moment there was a firm but decidedly feminine knock upon the outer door. The chemist seemed to recognize it, for instead of his usual impatient shout he went to the door and opened it. And yet, when the feeble light revealed his visitor he evinced surprise.
"What, you, Miss Arsdale?"
"What, you, Miss Arsdale?"
"Yes, Professor," she answered, slightly out of breath. "I thought that if I hurried I might possibly find you here. I am all out of my brother's medicine and I did not dare wait until to-morrow."
"I 'm glad you did n't," he responded heartily. "If you will sit down a moment I will prepare it."