"No, no! Fight it off! Don't let it get the better of you," urged the surgeon, anxiously.
But the nausea was not to be denied. Presently Truax settled back on his pillows.
"Is there anything on your mind, my man?" asked Doctor McCrea, bending over the sufferer. "Is there anything you'd like to set right, before—before—"
Doctor Mccrea's speech ended in an odd little click in his throat.
"Doctor, am I—am I—"
"Is there any little confession you would like to make? And wrong you may have done that you'd like to set straight, my man? If so, we can take down a statement, you know."
Truax groaned, but there was a look of great fright in his eyes.
"Doc, I—I wonder—if—"
"Well, Truax?"
"Are we at anchor—now?"