"What in the world are you doing, you unsociable beggar? Can't you
tear yourself away from that beastly work for one night even? Come in
here and entertain me. You won't have the chance to-morrow."
There was no reply. Only from far away there came again the weird yell
of a jackal. For a few seconds more Nick lay frowning. Then swiftly
and quietly he arose, and stepped to the window.
There he stopped dead as if in sudden irresolution; for Will was sunk
upon his knees by the table with his head upon his work and his arms
flung out with clenched hands in an attitude of the most utter, the
most anguished despair. He made no sound of any sort; only, as Nick
watched, his bowed shoulders heaved once convulsively.
It was only for a moment that Nick stood hesitating. The next, obeying
an impulse that he never stopped to question, he moved straight
forward to Will's side; and then saw--what he had not at first seen--a
piece of paper crumpled and gripped in one of his hands.
He bent over him and spoke rapidly, but without agitation. "Hullo, old
boy! What is it! Bad news, eh?"
Will started and groaned, then sharply turned his face upwards. It was
haggard and drawn and ghastly, but even then its boyishness remained.
He spoke at once, replying to Nick in short, staccato tones.
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