“Cannot you do something, doctor,” he pleaded.
“Not here. We might do something in a hospital, but he would not survive the journey. He is growing weaker every moment. Be brave, my lad. It is a terrible trial, I know, but you must remember that all things are for the best.”
Joe knelt beside the sufferer and took hold of his hand. Hiram Bodley looked at him and then at the doctor.
“I—I can't live—I know it,” he said hoarsely. “Joe, stay by me till I die, won't you?”
“Yes!” faltered the boy. “Oh, this is awful!”
“I'm sorry to leave you so soon, Joe—I—I thought I'd be—be able to do something for you some day.”
“You have done something for me, Uncle Hiram.”
“All I've got goes to you, Joe. Doctor, do you hear that?”
“I do.”
“It—it ain't much, but it's something. The blue box—I put it in the blue box—” Here the sufferer began to cough.