“Who is it?” demanded Ephriam.
The man attempted to answer him, but the words he would have spoken failed him; he staggered toward the door and half fell into the room. The light shone full in his face.
“My God, Tom!” cried the old man.
Tom Raymond groaned again, and collapsed into a chair.
“Licker,” he gasped. “Bring me licker—”
When this was brought him and he had drunk of it, it seemed to give him strength.
“How are you, father?” he said, with a ghastly attempt at a smile.
“What has happened to you, Tom?” asked his father.
“I been shot. Oh, I got bored pretty,” he groaned. “But I'm a heap better than I was—-where you going?”
“To call your sister.”