“Veil—I don' know—die boys and Fater Harra und—Mein Gott! I ask Vood!” He puffed heavily again after the struggle and triumph.
“Couldn't do better. It's what your boys expect of you anyhow.”
And Hennion returned to his silence. Freiburger's soul glowed peacefully once more.
“It iss Vood's business, hein?”
He looked from one to the other of the impassive, self-controlled men. He wanted Wood to say something that he could carry away for law and wisdom and conviction, something to which other ideas might be fitted and referred. He had the invertebrate instinct of a mollusk to cling to something not itself, something rooted and undriven, in the sea.
“You've done well, Freiburger,” said Wood, rousing himself. “Tell the boys they've done well. Stay by your beer and don't worry till the keg's dry.”
Freiburger rolled away, murmuring his message loyally. “Stay by mein—a—mein keg's dry.”
“Freiburger won't cost you much,” Hen-nion murmured after a while. Wood swung softly in his chair.
“Got something on your mind, ain't you, Dick?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. But I don't know what it is. I've fished for it till I'm tired. I've analysed Freiburger, and didn't get much. Now I'd like to examine your soul in a strong chemical solution. Maybe I'm a bit embarrassed.”