412 
THE STRAND MAGAZINE. 
especially in four-grain doses ? But 
I won't rub it in until you get on 
your feet. You ought to have 
been a druggist, Tom ; you’re splen- 
didly qualified to make up prescrip- 
tions.” 
Tom looked at me with a faint 
and foolish smile. 
“ B’ly,” he murmured, “ I feel jus* 
like a hum’n’ bird fly in’ around a 
jolly lot of most ’shpensive roses. 
Don’ bozzer me. Coin’ sleep now.” 
And he went to sleep in two seconds. 
I shook him by the shoulder. 
“ Now, Tom,” I said, severely, 
“ this won’t do. The big doctor said 
you must stay awake for at least an 
hour. Open your eyes. You’re not 
entirely safe yet, you know. Wake 
up.” 
Tom ETopkins weighs one hundred 
and ninety-eight pounds. He gave 
me another somnolent grin and fell 
into deeper slumber. I would have made him 
move about, but I might as well have tried 
to make Cleopatra’s Needle waltz around the 
room with me. Tom’s breathing became 
stertorous, and that, in connection with 
morphia poisoning, means danger. 
Then I began to think. I could not rouse 
his body ; I must try to excite his mind. 
“ Make him angry,” was an idea that suggested 
itself. “ Good ! ” I thought ; but how ? 
There was not a joint in Tom’s armour. 
Dear old fellow ! He was good-nature itself, 
and a gallant, gentleman, fine and true and 
clean as sunlight. He came from somewhere 
gales pinched him and slapped his face. 
down South, where they still have ideals and 
a code. New York had charmed but had 
not spoiled him. He had that old-fashioned, 
chivalrous reverence for women, that , 
Eureka ! There was my idea ! I worked 
the thing up for a minute or two in my 
imagination. I chuckled to myself at the 
thought of springing a thing like that on old 
Tom Hopkins. Then I took him by the 
shoulder and shook him till his ears flopped. 
He opened his eyes lazily. I assumed an 
expression of scorn and contempt, and pointed 
my finger within two inches of his nose. 
“ Listen to me, Hopkins,” I said, in cutting 
and distinct tones. “ You and I have been 
good friends, but 1 want you to understand 
that in the future my doors are closed against 
any man who acts as much like a scoundrel 
as you have.” 
Tom looked the least bit interested. 
“ What’s the matter, Billy ? ” he muttered, 
composedly. 
“Don’t your 
clothes fit you ? ” 
“ If I were in 
your place,” 1 
went on, “ which, 
thank God, I. an» 
not, I think I 
should be afraid 
to close my eyes. 
How about that 
girl you left wait- 
ing for you down 
among those lone- 
some Southern 
