Now and then they heard a man speak in a low voice,
or someone move across the room; and always that ghastly,
overpowering odour kept creeping in, making them think
they would die of suffocation, and their three babies
also. The suspense and horror had become almost
unbearable—when finally they began to hear
Lacey Granitch again, moaning, sobbing—most
harrowing sounds. “My God! My God!”
whispered Lizzie, “What are they doing?”
And when Jimmie did not answer, she whispered again.
“We ought to stop them! We ought to get
help!”
But then once more the door opened, and “Paul”
came in. “It’s all right now,”
he said. “He’s coming out.”
Neither of the Jimmies had the least idea what “coming
out” meant, but they were reassured to know
that the masterful person at least was satisfied.
They waited; they heard Lacey vomiting, as it seemed—and
then they heard him cursing, in between his feeble
gasps. He called the men the same foul name that
he had called Jimmie; and that somehow made the whole
affair seem better—it brought one down to
earth again!
“Paul” went out and stayed for a while,
and when he came back, he said, “We’re
going now; and understand, there’s nothing for
you to worry about. We shall leave the patient
here, and as soon as we get to a telephone, we’ll
notify the hospital to send an ambulance. So
all you have to do is to wait, and keep quiet and don’t
worry. And here’s something for the use
of your house—“The man put out his
hand with a roll of bills, which Jimmie mechanically
took—“and if anybody asks you about
what happened to-night, just say you didn’t
see anything and don’t know anything whatever
about it. I’m sorry to have troubled you,
but it couldn’t be helped. And now, good
night.”
And so the masterful young man went out, and they
heard him and his companions tramping down the porch-steps.
They listened, until they heard the automobile start
up and disappear in the darkness. Then from the
next room they heard a moan.
Trembling with terror, Jimmie got up and stole to
the door, and opened it a tiny crack. The room
was in utter darkness. “Get me some water!”
the voice of Lacey groaned; and Jimmie tiptoed back
and got the little smoky lamp, and came to the door
again. He peered in, and saw that Lacey was lying
on the floor with a sheet over him—everything
but his head, which was resting on a pillow. His
face was yellow and twisted with pain. “Water!
Water!” he sobbed; and Jimmie rushed to get
a glass and fill it from the pail. When he brought
it, Lacey first tried to drink, and then began to vomit;
then he lay, sobbing softly to himself. He saw
Jimmie staring at him, and his eyes filled with sudden
hate and he whispered, “This is what you got
me in for, you damned little skunk!”
CHAPTER XI
JIMMIE HIGGINS FACES THE WAR
I
Copyrights
Jimmie Higgins from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.