e lads old enough to be
given privileges or to compel them from their mothers remained
vigilantly upon the kerb in anticipation of a death or some such
event. The reporter of the Morning Tribune rode thither on his bicycle
every hour until three o'clock.

Six of the ten doctors in Whilomville attended at Judge Hagenthorpe's
house.

Almost at once they were able to know that Trescott's burns were not
vitally important. The child would possibly be scarred badly, but his
life was undoubtedly safe. As for the negro Henry Johnson, he could
not live. His body was frightfully seared, but more than that, he now
had no face. His face had simply been burned away.

Trescott was always asking news of the two other patients. In the
morning he seemed fresh and strong, so they told him that Johnson was
doomed. They then saw him stir on the bed, and sprang quickly to see
if the bandages needed readjusting. In the sudden glance he threw from
one to another he impressed them as being both leonine and
impracticable.

The morning paper announced the death of Henry Johnson. It contained a
long interview with Edward J. Hannigan, in which the latter described
in full the performance of Johnson at the fire. There was also an
editorial built from all the best words in the vocabulary of the
staff. The town halted in its accustomed road of thought, and turned a
reverent attention to the memory of this hostler. In the breasts of
many people was the regret that they had not known enough to give him
a hand and a lift when he was alive, and they judged themselves stupid
and ungenerous for this failure.

The name of Henry Johnson became suddenly the title of a saint to the
little boys. The one who thought of it first could, by quoting it in
an argument, at once overthrow his antagonist, whether it applied to
the subject or whether it did not.

"Nigger, nigger, never die.
Black face and shiny eye."

Boys who had called this odious couplet in the rear of Johnson's march
buried the fact at the bottom of their hearts.

Later in the day Miss Bella Farragut, of No. 7 Watermelon Alley,
announced that she had been engaged to marry Mr. Henry Johnson.

XI

The old judge had a cane with an ivory head. He could never think at
his best until he was leaning slightly on this stick and smoothing the
white top with slow movements of his hands. It was also to him a kind
of narcotic. If by any chance he mislaid it, he grew at once very
irritab