Have you any wishes to express before we move you?"
"I--want to--talk to--Reade," groaned the injured man.
"Certainly," replied Tom, when the request was repeated to him.
Stepping softly to where the gambler lay on the sidewalk, Reade bent
over him.
"Duff," said Reade gravely, "you and I haven't always been the best of
friends, but I can say honestly that I'm sorry to see you in this
plight. I hope that you may recover, yet get some happiness out of
life."
But the gambler's eyes blazed with ferocity.
"Don't waste any soft soap on me, Reade," he said slowly, and with many
pauses. "The Doc is a fool. I'm going to get well, and there will be
just one happiness ahead of me. That will be to find you, wherever you
may be, and to what I tried to do to you to-night."
"Can't you forget that sort of thing, Duff?" asked Tom gravely. "Not
that I'm afraid of you; you've seen enough of me to-night to know that
I'm not afraid of you. But I'm afraid for you. You're close to
eternity, Duff, and I'd like to see you go to your death with a calm,
hopeful, decent mind.
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