that one of us must pass through their lines
and fire upon them from the inside, that is, he must give concrete proof
that he's in the net."

"Big words!" muttered Long Jim.

"I think you put it about right," said Henry.

"Mighty dang'rous," said Shif'less Sol.

"I expected to undertake it," said Henry.

"You speak too quick," said the shiftless one. "I said it wuz dang'rous
'cause I want it fur myself. It's got to be a cunnin' sort o' deed, jest
the kind that will suit me."

"By agreement I'm the leader, and I've chosen this duty for myself,"
said Henry firmly.

"Thar are times when I don't like you a-tall, a-tall, Henry," said
Shif'less Sol plaintively. "You're always pickin' out the good risky
adventures fur yourse'f. Ef thar's any fine, lively thing that will
make a feller's ha'r stan' up straight on end an' the chills chase one
another up an' down his back, you're sure to grab it off, an' say it wuz
jest intended fur you. That ain't the right way to treat the rest o' us
nohow."

"No, it ain't," grumbled Silent Tom, but Shif'less Sol turned fiercely
on him.

"Beginnin' to talk us to death ag'in, are you, Tom Ross?" he exclaimed.
"Runnin' on forever with that garrylous tongue o' yourn! You jest let
me have this out with Henry!"

Again Tom Ross blushed in the darkness and under the tan. A terrible
fear seized him that he had indeed grown garrulous, a man of many and
empty words. It was all right for Shif'less Sol to talk on forever,
because the words flowed from his lips in a liquid stream, like water
coursing down a smooth channel, but it did not become Tom Ross, from
whom sentences were wrenched as one would extract a tooth. Paul laughed
softly but with intense enjoyment.

"When I die, seventy or eighty years from now," he said, "and go to
Heaven, I expect, when I pass through the golden gates, to hear a steady
and loud but pleasant buzz. It will go on and on, without ceasing. Maybe
it will be the droning of bees, but it won't be. Maybe it will be the
roar of water over a fall, but it won't be. Maybe it will be a strong
wind among the boughs, but it won't be. Oh, no, it will be none of those
things. It will be one Solomon Hyde, formerly of Kentucky, and they'll
tell me that his tongue has never stopped since he came to Heaven ten
years before, and off in one corner there'll be a silent individual, Tom
Ross, who entered Heaven at the same time. And they'll say that in all
the ten years he has spoken on