"I am glad to come," I said. "What can I do for you?"
"I am dying," he said feebly. "I want you to help me to die in peace. I worry about my children. What is to become of them? who is to look after them? Will you promise? Would you promise? It will be more difficult than you think. Will you be trustee for them? You are the only one I can ask; the only one who has been kind to me."
"I have done nothing for you," I said, ashamed. "Anything I can do now I will."
"You and your wife have been so kind to my darlings, so very kind."
The door was opened with a kick. Bobby thrust his head in, laughing. Walter Barrington gave a moan, his poor, thin hands raised to his head. I felt I could strangle the little boy. My "Hush!" was so stern that he came on tip-toe to the bed in his nailed boots.
"Is father asleep?" he questioned in a loud whisper.
Walter Barrington drew his hands from his face and turned upon his son the loveliest smile I have ever seen.
