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I was the Flail of the Lord

           "Whatdoyoumeantodo,then?"Iasked.

           "Well,myideawasthatyouandIcouldrushhim.Hemaybedozin’,andattheworsthecanonlywingoneofus,andtheothershouldhavehim.Ifwecangethisbolster-coverroundhisarmsandthen‘phoneupastomach-pump,we’llgivetheolddearthesupperofhislife."

           Itwasaratherdesperatebusinesstocomesuddenlyintoone’sday’swork.Idon’tthinkthatIamaparticularlybraveman.IhaveanIrishimaginationwhichmakestheunknownandtheuntriedmoreterriblethantheyare.Ontheotherhand,Iwasbroughtupwithahorrorofcowardiceandwithaterrorofsuchastigma.IdaresaythatIcouldthrowmyselfoveraprecipice,liketheHuninthehistorybooks,ifmycouragetodoitwerequestioned,andyetitwouldsurelybeprideandfear,ratherthancourage,whichwouldbemyinspiration.Therefore,althougheverynerveinmybodyshrankfromthewhisky-maddenedfigurewhichIpicturedintheroomabove,Istillanswered,inascarelessavoiceasIcouldcommand,thatIwasreadytogo.SomefurtherremarkofLordRoxton’saboutthedangeronlymademeirritable.

           "Talkingwon’tmakeitanybetter,"saidI."Comeon."

           Irosefrommychairandhefromhis.Thenwithalittleconfidentialchuckleoflaughter,hepattedmetwoorthreetimesonthechest,finallypushingmebackintomychair.

           "Allright,sonnymyladyou’lldo,"saidhe.Ilookedupinsurprise.

           "IsawafterJackBallingermyselfthismornin’.Heblewaholeintheskirtofmykimono,blesshisshakyoldhand,butwegotajacketonhim,andhe’stobeallrightinaweek.Isay,youngfellah,Ihopeyoudon’tmindwhat?

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