LITMIR.BIZ

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er a mob ‘a tanks,’ he told the gang. ‘Nobody ‘ud git not’in’ if dey wasn’t on t’ yehs!’

      Blue Billie’s soul had been smouldering in hate against Fidsey.

      ‘Ah, shut up! Youse ain’t gota take care ‘a dose two mugs, dough. Youse badger smoke, ain’t yeh? Den yer tr’u. G’ home!’

      ‘Well, I hate t’ see er bloke use ‘imself for a tank,’ said Fidsey. ‘But youse don’t wanta go jollyin’ ‘round ‘bout d’ can, Blue, er youse’ll git done.’

      ‘Who’ll do me?’ demanded Blue Billie, casting his eye about him.

      ‘Kel’ will,’ said Fidsey bravely.

      ‘D’ ‘el he will!’

      ‘Dat’s what he will!’

      Blue Billie made the gesture of a warrior.

      ‘He never saw d’ day ‘a his life dat he could do me little finger. If ‘e says much t’ me, I’ll push ‘is face all over d’ lot.’

      Fidsey called to Kelcey.

      ‘Say, Kel, hear what dis mug is chewin’?’

      Kelcey was apparently deep in other matters. His back was half-turned.

      Blue Billie spoke to Fidsey in a battleful voice.

      ‘Did ‘e ever say ‘e could do me?’

      Fidsey said:

      ‘Soitenly ‘e did. Youse is dead easy, ‘e says. He says he kin punch holes in you, Blue!’

      ‘When did ‘e say it?’

      ‘Oh—any time. Youse is a cinch, Kel’ says.’

      Blue Billie walked over to Kelcey. The others of the band followed him, exchanging joyful glances.

      ‘Did youse say yeh could do me?’

      Kelcey slowly turned, but he kept his eyes upon the ground. He heard Fidsey darting among the others, telling of his prowess, preparing them for the downfall of Blue Billie. He stood heavily on one foot and moved his hands nervously. Finally he said in a low growl: ‘Well, what if I did?’

      The sentence sent a happy thrill through the band. It was a formidable question. Blue Billie braced himself. Upon him came the responsibility of the next step. The gang fell back a little upon all sides. They looked expectantly at Blue Billie.

      He walked forward with a deliberate step until his face was close to Kelcey.

      ‘Well, if you did,’ he said, with a snarl between his teeth, ‘I’m goin’ t’ t’ump d’ life outa yeh right heh!’

      A little boy, wild of eye and puffing, came down the slope as from an explosion. He burst out in a rapid treble:

      ‘Is dat Kelcey feller here? Say, yeh ol’ woman’s sick again. Dey want yeh! Yeh’s better run! She’s awful sick!’

      The gang turned with loud growls. ‘Ah, git outa here!’ Fidsey threw a stone at the little boy and chased him a short distance, but he continued to clamour:

      ‘Youse better come, Kelcey feller! She’s awful sick! She was hollerin’! Dey been lookin’ for yeh over’n hour!’

      In his eagerness he returned part way, regardless of Fidsey.

      Kelcey had moved away from Blue Billie. He said:

      ‘I guess I’d better go.’ They howled at him. ‘Well,’ he continued, ‘I can’t—I don’t wanta—I don’t wanta leave me mother be—she—’

      His words were drowned in the chorus of their derision. ‘Well, looka-here,’ he would begin, and at each time their cries and screams ascended. They dragged at Blue Billie. ‘Go for ‘im, Blue! Slug ‘im! Go ahn!’

      Kelcey went slowly away while they were urging Blue Billie to do a decisive thing.

      Billie stood fuming and blustering and explaining himself. When Kelcey had achieved a considerable distance from him, he stepped forward a few paces and hurled a terrible oath. Kelcey looked back darkly.

      CHAPTER XVII

       Table of Contents

      When he entered the chamber of death he was brooding over the recent encounter and devising extravagant revenges upon Blue Billie and the others.

      The little old woman was stretched upon her bed. Her face and hands were of the hue of the blankets. Her hair, seemingly of a new and wondrous grayness, hung over her temples in whips and tangles. She was sickeningly motionless, save for her eyes, which rolled and swayed in maniacal glances.

      A young doctor had just been administering medicine.

      ‘There,’ he said, with a great satisfaction, ‘I guess that’ll do her good!’ As he went briskly towards the door he met Kelcey. ‘Oh,’ he said. ‘Son?’

      Kelcey had that in his throat which was like fur. When he forced his voice the words came first low and then high, as if they had broken through something.

      ‘Will she—will she—’

      The doctor glanced back at the bed. She was watching them as she would have watched ghouls, and muttering.

      ‘Can’t tell,’ he said. ‘She’s a wonderful woman! Got more vitality than you and I together! Can’t tell! May—may not! Good-day! Back in two hours.’

      In the kitchen Mrs. Calahan was feverishly dusting the furniture, polishing this and that. She arranged everything in decorous rows. She was preparing for the coming of death. She looked at the floor as if she longed to scrub it.

      The doctor paused to speak in an undertone to her, glancing at the bed. When he departed she laboured with a renewed speed.

      Kelcey approached his mother. From a little distance he called to her: ‘Mother—mother—’ He proceeded with caution lest this mystic being upon the bed should clutch at him. ‘Mother—mother—don’t yeh know me?’ He put forth apprehensive, shaking fingers and touched her hand.

      There were two brilliant steel-coloured points upon her eyeballs. She was staring off at something sinister.

      Suddenly she turned to her son in a wild babbling appeal:

      ‘Help me! Help me! Oh, help me! I see them coming.’

      Kelcey called to her as to a distant place. ‘Mother! Mother!’ She looked at him, and then there began within her a struggle to reach him with her mind. She fought with some implacable power whose fingers were in her brain. She called to Kelcey in stammering, incoherent cries for help. Then she again looked away.

      ‘Ah, there they come! There they come! Ah, look—look—loo—’ She arose to a sitting posture without the use of her arms.

      Kelcey felt himself being choked. When her voice pealed forth in a scream he saw crimson curtains moving before his eyes.

      ‘Mother—oh, mother—there’s nothin’—there’s nothin’—’

      She was at a kitchen-door with a dishcloth in her hand. Within there had just been a clatter of crockery. Down through the trees of the orchard she could see a man in a field ploughing.

      ‘Bill—o-o-oh, Bill—have yeh seen Georgie? Is he out there with you? Georgie! Georgie! Come right here this minnet! Right—this—minnet!’

      She began to talk to some people in the room:

      ‘I want t’ know what yeh want here! I want yeh t’ git out! I don’t want yeh here! I don’t feel good t’-day, an’ I don’t want yeh here! I don’t feel good t’-day! I want yeh t’ git out!’ Her voice became peevish.

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