"I tell you we are all equal in the eyes of God--rich and poor, high and low. The prayers of a poor boy reach God's ears as readily as the prayers of a rich man."
"If _you_ prayed, Mr. Gran," said Billy, "Gawd'd listen to yer. Per'aps yer wouldn't mind praying for me a bit."
Robert Grantham covered his eyes with his hand.
"'Ave I 'urt yer, sir?" moaned Billy. "Don't say I've 'urt yer!"
"No, my boy, no. If I had as little to answer for as you----" He paused awhile. "Your state is not of your own creating, Billy."
"No, sir; I don't know as it is. I couldn't 'elp bein' wot I am."
"There are many who could not say as much, who walk into sin with their eyes wide open--Billy!"
The lad was seized with a sudden paroxysm of coughing, which lasted several minutes. The fit over, he lay back exhausted, the red foam issuing from his mouth. It was no time for exhortation. Robert Grantham cleared the fatal sign from the sufferer's mouth, and patted Billy's hand and stroked his face pitifully. Billy's lips touched the consoling hand.
"Thank yer, sir. Let me lay still a bit."
The men resumed their work, and the boy was quiet. At midnight the doctor called again.