Later he knew that the flapper was there. She had come to die with him, though she was plainly not in a proper state of mind to pass on. She was saying that something was the nerviest piece of work she'd ever been up against, and that she would perfectly just fix them ... only give her a little time—they were snoop-cats!
"You'll perfectly manage; jus' leave it to you," breathed her moribund husband.
"If you'd try some fruit and two eggs," suggested the flapper.
He raised a futile hand defensively, and an expression of acute repugnance was to be seen upon his yellowed face.
"Please, please go 'way," he murmured. "Let Julia do fussing. Go way off to other end of little old steamer; stay there."
The flapper saw it was no time for woman's nursing. Sadly she went.
"Telephone to a drug-store," demanded Bean after her, but she did not hear.
He continued to die, mercifully unmolested, until the man from Hartford came in to ascertain if his locks had been tampered with.
"Hold to the all good!" urged the man at a moment when it was too poignantly, too openly certain that Bean could hold to very little indeed.
"Uh-hah!" gasped Bean.