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Updated: August 14, 2024
"I will win to-night!" "Try another figure!" said Crowther. But Piers refused. He laid down twenty-five francs, and with that he won. It was the turning-point. From that moment it seemed he could not do wrong. Stake after stake he won, either with his own money, or Crowther's; and finally left the table in triumph with full pockets. A good many watched him enviously as he went.
"I would do anything anything. But if he should want me and I were not at hand? If if he should die " Her voice sank. Crowther's hand pressed upon her. "He is not going to die," he said stoutly. "He doesn't mean to die. But he will probably have to go slow for the rest of his life. That is where you will be able to help him. His only chance lies in patience. You must teach him to be patient."
It was like a protest, the involuntary startled outcry of the patient under the probe. Crowther's hand grasped his more closely. "I'll go with you on that understanding, Piers," he said. "You'll be wanted then." Piers groaned. "If it hadn't been for that," he said, "I'd have ended the whole business with a bullet before now." "No, you wouldn't," said Crowther quietly.
He freed himself from Crowther's hold and turned away. Once more he opened the window to the roar of London's life; and so standing, with his back to Crowther, he spoke again jerkily, with obvious effort. "Do you remember telling me that something would turn up? Well, it has. I'm waiting to see what will come of it.
I've got to live and die on it." He clenched his hands in sudden passionate rebellion. "But I'm damned if I'm going to tell anybody! It's hell enough without that!" Crowther's hand closed slowly and very steadily on his shoulder. "It's just hell that I want to save you from, sonny," he said. "It may seem the hardest part to you now, but if you shirk it you'll go further in still.
"Do you never drink when you are by yourself?" he asked. "Not when I'm working," said Crowther. "I see! Work is sacred, what?" Crowther looked at him. The mockery of the tone had been scarcely veiled; but there was no consciousness of the fact in Crowther's quiet reply. "Yes; just that, sonny." Piers laughed again, a bitter, gibing laugh.
But he need not have been afraid. Piers' thoughts never strayed in that direction. If his six months in Crowther's society had brought him no other comfort, they had at least infused in him a saner outlook and steadier balance. Very little had ever passed between them on the subject of the tragedy that had thrown them together.
"What's them?" inquired the Cap'n, as though he hoped that he might at least have these tenants on his worthless acres. "Woods names for things that there ain't none of," vouchsafed Mr. Crowther. "You owe me for twenty-two days' work, nine shillin's a day, amountin' to " "Here! Take that and shut up!" barked the Cap'n, shoving bills at him. Then he wagged a stubby finger under Mr. Crowther's nose.
"How else can I do anything?" she said. "Surely surely he wants to see me!" She was standing in Crowther's room, facing him with that in her eyes that moved him to a great compassion. He put his hand on her shoulder. "My dear, of course he wants to see you; but there will be no keeping him quiet when he does. He isn't equal to it.
He sat down on the arm of the chair and thrust a strong hand over Piers' shoulder, saying no word. Minutes passed ere by sheer violence that bitter anguish wore itself out at last. There came a long, piteous silence, then Piers' hand feeling blindly upwards. Crowther's grip encompassed it like a band of iron, but still for a space no word was spoken. Then haltingly Piers found his voice.
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