The Thread Man got into his scorched,
besooted, oil-smeared coat, and the overcoat which had been
loaned him, and shouldered the gun. Jimmy hesitated. But Dannie
came up to the Boston man and said: "There's a place in my
shoulder that gun juist fits, and it's lonesome without it. Pass
it over." Only the sorely bruised and strained Thread Man knew
how glad he was to let it go.
It was Dannie, too, who whispered to the Thread Man to keep close
behind him; and when the party trudged back to Casey's it was so
surprising how much better he knew the way going back than Jimmy
had known it coming out, that the Thread Man did remark about it.
But Jimmy explained that after one had been out a few hours their
eyes became accustomed to the darkness and they could see better.
That was reasonable, for the Thread Man knew it was true in his
own experience.
So they got back to Casey's, and found a long table set, and a
steaming big oyster supper ready for them; and that explained the
Thread Man's conference with Mrs. Casey. He took the head of the
table, with his back to the wall, and placed Jimmy on his right
and Dannie on his left. Mrs. Casey had furnished soap and towels,
and at least part of the Boston man's face was clean. The oysters
were fine, and well cooked.
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