He never had seen him look so old, so white, so worn, before.
"I was waiting for you," said the colonel, indicating Nolan with a finger that was like a claw. "I've fixed everything but the First District." He paused for breath. "The First Ward's solid, isn't it? Well, all right. But watch Donahue. I'm sorry we ever let him get on the delegation. And then, let's see"—he pressed his brow in a troubled effort to steady his senses—"oh, yes. See McGlynn and have him lay down on Hardy, and tell Reinhold that if he wants that job from the South Park board he'd better get in line, and as to Wright—his brother's a conductor on the Cottage Grove line, and you can get at him through Harlow. Tell him I sent you. That'll give you thirty-five votes on the first ballot, and—"
Carroll, who had turned to reply to some jest of Mosely's, heard a groan. Instantly he looked back at the colonel. The old politician, his face livid, was struggling as if he wished to get out of bed. He writhed a moment, then his head nodded, his chin dropped to his breast, and he collapsed in a heap, among the tumbled bedclothes. Carroll paled with a sudden sickness.
