Gray stood over him, looking down upon him with a cold cynical regard that seemed to madden the man.
"Better step back and leave him to me," whispered Harding.
Gray laughed.
"All right! but play fair, old fellow."
Harding's mild eyes looked their wonder at him, but Gray only laughed again and went back to the table, where he sat with his head propped on his hands watching the two.
Harding dragged his box out from under his bunk and sat down on it. The man lay still for a moment and then painfully raised himself into a sitting posture against the wall.
"Look here," he said. "Do you think I'm dyin'?"
"Yes," said Harding briefly.
"Before mornin'?"
"I don't believe you have many hours to live."