It doesn't
smart nor tear much; not more than river-rheumatism. P'r'aps I wouldn't
mind it at all if I could see."
For Phil was entirely blind now. The accident had destroyed his remaining
eye. Being blind, he had already passed that first corridor of
death--darkness. Roscoe stooped over him, took his hand, and spoke
quietly to him. Phil knew the voice, and said with a faint smile: "Do you
think they'd plant me with municipal honours--honours to pardners?"
"We'll see to that, Phil," said Mr. Devlin from behind the clergyman.
Phil recognised the voice. "You think that nobody'll kick at making it
official?"
"Not one, Phil."
"And maybe they wouldn't mind firin' a volley--Lights out, as it were:
and blow the big whistle? It'd look sociable, wouldn't it?"
"There'll be a volley and the whistle, Phil--if you have to go," said Mr.
Devlin.
There was a silence, then the reply came musingly: "I guess I hev to go.
. . . I'd hev liked to see the corporation runnin' longer, but maybe I
can trust the boys."
A river-driver at the door said in a deep voice: "By the holy! yes, you
can trust us.
Pages:
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310