"The proprietor is out of the city," the clerk answers to all inquirers. "He left no address."
"If he arrives, tell him to hasten to Mr. Corkey's. Mr. Corkey is fatally ill with pneumonia. He must see Mr. Chalmers."
Twenty-four hours pass, with Corkey no better--moaning and asking for Chalmers. All other affairs are as nothing.
Chalmers does not come.
Twenty-four hours more go by. The doctor now allows none of the comrades to see the sick man.
He does not roll and toss so much. But he inquires feebly and constantly for Chalmers.
At midnight he calls his wife. "You've heard me speak of Chalmers, sissy," he says.
There is a ring on the door of the flat.
"That's him now."
But it is a neighbor, come to stay the night out.