Evidently he had acquired only a few of
the simple French expressions. Barnes had a slight knowledge of
Spanish and Italian, and tried again with no better results. German
was his last resort, and he knew he would fail once more, for the man
obviously was not Teutonic.
The bloody lips parted, however, and the eyes opened with a piteous,
appealing expression in their depths. It was apparent that there was
something he wanted to say, something he had to say before he died. He
gasped a dozen words or more in a tongue utterly unknown to Barnes,
who bent closer to catch the feeble effort. It was he who now shook
his head; with a groan the sufferer closed his eyes in despair. He
choked and coughed violently an instant later.
"Get some water and a towel," cried Miss Thackeray, tremulously. She
was very white, but still clung to the man's hand. "Be quick! Behind
the bar." Then she turned to Jones. "Don't call my father. He can't
stand the sight of blood," she said.
Barnes unbuttoned the coat and revealed the blood-soaked white shirt.
"Better leave this to me," he said in her ear. "There's nothing you
can do. He's done for. Please go away."
"Oh, I sha'n't faint--at least, not yet.
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