The doctor grunted, went into his front yard, and let the old white gate swing to behind him.
“I suppose you know the risk you’re taking?”
Faunce nodded.
“Oh, I sha’n’t kill myself.” He laughed again, rather loudly this time. “I haven’t the courage!”
“It doesn’t take courage when you’ve got enough of the stuff. It’s as easy to slip off as it is for a frozen man to sink into the final stupor.”
For a moment they stood peering at each other through the night. A fitful moon vanished behind a cloud, and left each one in doubt of the other’s attitude; but the doctor was aware that Faunce pulled himself together and moved away from the fence.
“So you think that’s easy?” he said in a hoarse voice.
“I know it is—at the end. There’s a limit, you see, to human endurance. When it’s reached and passed, coma ensues. That’s easy!”
Faunce took a step toward the gate, as if an impulse moved him to follow the doctor in. Then he turned with an inarticulate exclamation, waved an abrupt good-night, and walked rapidly away into the darkness.
Dr. Gerry watched him disappear before he turned and deliberately climbed the steps to his own front door, to find the cat rubbing herself against his ankles. He stooped down and caressed her, running his hand down the length of her sleek, gray back, and finally giving her tail a gentle tweak. Then he unlocked his door and entered, carrying her under his arm.