In passing, why do we fear death? For our sins? Rather, isn't it the tremendous inherent human curiosity to know what is going to happen to-morrow that causes us to wince at the thought of annihilation? A subconscious resentment against the idea of entering darkness while our neighbour will proceed with his petty affairs as usual? "It's nip and tuck," said the doctor; "but we'll pull him through. Besides, I have my doubts that he is so very sick. ‘That’s right, you bone idle do-nothings. It might be that the boy had taken one drink too many, or someone had given him knock-out drops. A queer nut. ‘Sergeant Trodger is who I am. “I feel justified then,” he said, “in annexing his chair. It isn’t sentiment but it’s horse sense. “YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly.
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