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If I had my way, I'd kill little Wilkins and salt him down to be ready for us when the pork and biscuit fail." "Well, now, as to the safety of this here raft in a gale, small Wilkins," said Baldwin, regardless of Corkey's interruption, "that depends summat on the natur' o' the gale.
All alone on Georgian Bay! The boat leaps and settles, leaps and settles. The oars fly in his face, and are jerked away. The boat falls on something solid. What is that? It hits the boat again. An oar flies out of Corkey's hand. His hand seizes the gunwale for security. A warmer hand is felt. Corkey pulls on the hand a head a kinky head comes next. The thing is alive, and is welcome.
These are the questions of the sidewalk inspectors, who perhaps ache to return to their other public duties. "It is Corkey's fault Corkey's fault! But here's the platform, now!" "We point with the finger of scorn " reads the clerk in a great voice. "That's the stuff!" respond the faithful, shaking hands one with another. "Order!" scream the bouncers and police. They desire to hear the platform.
Meantime the telegraph operator at Wiarton at Corkey's order has been sending the Covode Investigation from an antique copy of the "Congressional Globe." There is an office rule that dispatches must take their turn on the file. The four interviewers have filed their accounts and their accounts will be sent after the Covode Investigation.
Wonder if they did any dirt?" Corkey's face is hard and black. He rises. He feels ill. He swears at the mascot. "I thought he had too many points when I see him." The train is late. The propeller, Africa, lies at the dock ready to start. "Well, if I come to such a place as this I must expect a jackleg railroad. They say they've got an old tub there at the dock. Good stiff fall breeze, too."
To become the ornament of the sailor's fraternity is but to go up and down the docks, drinking the whisky which comes in free from Canada and sneezing. "We steer toward Corkey's sneeze," the sailors declare.
"Oh, Corkey ain't no good at all," say the bad men from Bitter Creek. It heats their blood. They shake hands with Lockwin and deploy on the threatened precincts. When the sailors unload at the next precinct of the Fourth ward the emissaries who have arrived with notice of Corkey's surrender these great hearts lead the fight.
He learns that ten wagons have been engaged by the president of the sailors' society. He observes that the season is favorable to Corkey's plans. What, then, does Corkey want? "Nothing!" What is he after? He surely doesn't expect to go to Washington! "That's what I expect. You just screw your nut straight that time, sure." What does he want to go to Congress for? "Well, my father got there.
"If he arrives, tell him to hasten to Mr. Corkey's. Mr. Corkey is fatally ill with pneumonia. He must see Mr. Chalmers." Twenty-four hours pass, with Corkey no better moaning and asking for Chalmers. All other affairs are as nothing. Chalmers does not come. Twenty-four hours more go by. The doctor now allows none of the comrades to see the sick man. He does not roll and toss so much.
"Bail, you moke! I'll throw you in!" But Corkey's voice is far from menacing. Corkey is weak. Now he sees the boy's face in dreadful contortions. The lad is trying to speak quickly, and can make no noise at all. He rises and points. He is frantic. "He's crazy!" thinks Corkey, in alarm. "L-l-land!" screams the lad. "That is what it is, unless it's sucking us in."
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