The poor chap wasn't breathing in a promising way; he groaned after each inhalation.

And what had become of the old fellow Kitty called Gregory?
A queer business.
Kitty came in with a basin and a roll of absorbent cotton.
"He is groaning!" she whispered.
"Pretty rocky condition, I should say.

That handkerchief in his cap doubtless saved him.

Now, little lady, I frankly don't like the idea of his being here.

Suppose he dies?
In that event there'll be the very devil to pay.