"What rot! You keep quiet and you'll be as right as rain."
"Give me a drink," said Walker. "A stiff one."
With shaking hand Mackintosh poured out whisky and water, half and half, and held the glass while Walker drank greedily. It seemed to restore him. He gave a long sigh and a little colour came into his great fleshy face. Mackintosh felt extraordinarily helpless. He stood and stared at the old man.
"If you'll tell me what to do I'll do it," he said.
"There's nothing to do. Just leave me alone. I'm done for."
He looked dreadfully pitiful as he lay on the great bed, a huge, bloated, old man; but so wan, so weak, it was heart-rending. As he rested, his mind seemed to grow clearer.
"You were right, Mac," he said presently. "You warned me."
"I wish to God I'd come with you."
"You're a good chap, Mac, only you don't drink."
There was another long silence, and it was clear that Walker was sinking. There was an internal hæmorrhage and even Mackintosh in his ignorance could not fail to see that his chief had but an hour or two to live. He stood by the side of the bed stock still. For half an hour perhaps Walker lay with his eyes closed, then he opened them.