"I can't die," he said. "I'm not ready. I'm only sixty-five. He—he may be mistaken. Don't you think I look better this morning?"
"You look very sick."
"I don't want to die," wailed the old man. "It's only a little while since I was a boy. Did—did he say how long I could live?"
"He said you might live forty-eight hours."
"Forty-eight hours—only two days—are you sure he said that?"
"Yes, Jacob. I wish I could do anything to make you live longer."
"You're a good boy, Tom. I—I'm afraid I haven't been a good friend to you."
"Yes, you have, Jacob. We have always been good friends."
"But I helped do you a great wrong. I hope you will forgive me."
"I don't know what it is, but I will forgive you, Jacob."