The end of
Noy's match fell red-hot on John Barron's face. Then he turned as footsteps
sounded; the curtains were moved aside and the footman reappeared, followed
by another person.
"Why, you wasn't the undertaker after all!" he explained. "Did you think
the man was alive? Good Lord! But you've found him anyway."
"Iss, I thot he was alive. I wanted to see en livin' an' leave en--" he
stopped. Common sense for once had a word with him and convinced him of the
folly of saying anything now concerning his frustrated projects.
"He died night 'fore last--consumption--and he's left money enough to build
a brace of ironclads, they say, and never no will, and not a soul on God's
earth is there with any legal claim upon him. To tell the truth, we none of
us never liked him."
"If you'll shaw me the way out into the street, I'll thank 'e," said Noy.
The undertaker was already busy making measurements. Then, a minute later,
Joe found himself standing under the sky again; and the darkness was full
of laughter and of voices, of gibing, jeering noises in unseen throats, of
rapid utterances on invisible tongues. The supernatural things screamed
into his ears that he was damned for a wish and for an intention; then they
shrieked and yelled their derision, and he understood well enough, for the
point of view was not a new one. Given the accomplishment of his desire, he
was prepared to suffer eternally; now eternal suffering must follow on a
wish barren of fruit, and hell for him would be hell indeed, with no
accomplished revenge in memory to lessen the torment.
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