“So they can lay me out in the club car? We’re almost there.”

It was a two-chair drawing room, top of the line, the settee already extended and made up, crisp white sheets folded over at the head. Ben lay him down, taking off his tie, his shoes, then suddenly went shy, not ready to draw the pants off the bird-like legs.

“Dopp kit,” Lasner said, pointing to the bathroom.

Ben rummaged through the leather case and pulled out a brown pill bottle. Hillcrest Pharmacy. As needed. He splashed some water in a glass.

“These?”

Lasner took two, then lay back, half closing his eyes, as if he expected instant results. Ben stood for a minute, helpless, then put the water down next to Lasner and went to the door.

“I’ll find a doctor.”

“I don’t need-”

“I’ll be right back,” Ben said, ignoring him.

“No porters,” Lasner said, raising his voice so Ben could hear it after he closed the door.

But, in fact, how could he find a doctor without one? Another story, a sick wife, the porter too polite to contradict.

By the time he got the doctor back to the compartment the pills seemed to have had some effect. Lasner’s breathing was deeper, pushing some color back into his face. The doctor glanced with a quick nod at the pill bottle and took out a stethoscope at the same time. “There still some pain?” He reached into the shirt, placing the metal disc on Lasner’s chest.

“Not as much.”

“This happen before? Must have, if you have these.” He nodded again at the pills. “And you kept walking around? Don’t you know better than that?”

“I’m here.”

“You’re lucky.” He leaned over, listening more carefully.

“With doctors,” Lasner said. “It’s like lawyers? It’s all private?”

“You should be in a hospital. To be on the safe side. I can ask them to stop the train,” he said, glancing out at the open prairie, “or wait until we get to Kansas City. We can wire ahead, have things ready.”