He would save him now from that humiliation; he would get his arms around him, as Corinne had done, and tell him he was still his friend and what he yet intended to do to pull him through, and that nothing which he had done had wrecked his affection for him.
As these thoughts rushed over him his pace quickened, mounting the stairs two steps at a time so that he might save his friend even a moment of additional suffering.

The doctor touched Jack on the shoulder, made a sign for him to moderate his steps, and the two moved to where his patient lay.
Garry was on the bed, outside the covering, when they entered.

He was lying on his back, his head and neck flat on a pillow, one foot resting on the floor.

He was in his trousers and shirt; his coat and waistcoat lay where he had thrown them.
"Garry," began Jack in a low voice--"I just ran in to say that--" The sick man did not move.
Jack stopped, and turned his head to the doctor.
"Asleep ?" he whispered.
"No;--drugged.

That's why I wanted you to see him before I called his wife.