The ball slipped softly home.

"Refused two hundred dollars--those pistols"-- with a sigh and closed eyes.

By and by again--"Patient had smart fever--but it will be gone--time you get--there.

Want you to--take care--t' I get up." "But, Doctor--" The sick man turned away his face with a petulant frown; but presently, with an effort at self-control, brought it back and whispered: "You mean you--not physician ?" "Yes." "No.

No more are half--doc's.