Grace

           Twogentlemenwhowereinthelavatoryatthetimetriedtolifthimup:buthewasquitehelpless.Helaycurledupatthefootofthestairsdownwhichhehadfallen.Theysucceededinturninghimover.Hishathadrolledafewyardsawayandhisclothesweresmearedwiththefilthandoozeoftheflooronwhichhehadlain,facedownwards.Hiseyeswereclosedandhebreathedwithagruntingnoise.Athinstreamofbloodtrickledfromthecornerofhismouth.

           Thesetwogentlemenandoneofthecuratescarriedhimupthestairsandlaidhimdownagainonthefloorofthebar.Intwominuteshewassurroundedbyaringofmen.Themanagerofthebaraskedeveryonewhohewasandwhowaswithhim.Nooneknewwhohewasbutoneofthecuratessaidhehadservedthegentlemanwithasmallrum.

           “Washebyhimself?”askedthemanager.

           “No,sir.Therewastwogentlemenwithhim.”

           “Andwherearethey?”

           Nooneknew;avoicesaid:

           “Givehimair.He’sfainted.”

           Theringofonlookersdistendedandclosedagainelastically.Adarkmedalofbloodhadformeditselfneartheman’sheadonthetessellatedfloor.Themanager,alarmedbythegreypalloroftheman’sface,sentforapoliceman.

           Hiscollarwasunfastenedandhisnecktieundone.Heopenedeyesforaninstant,sighedandclosedthemagain.Oneofgentlemenwhohadcarriedhimupstairsheldadingedsilkhatinhishand.