It just fitted him.
Drawing the white cloth or sheet over himself, he soon fell asleep, in spite of the dismal and ghastly surroundings.
An hour later Barker, the undertaker, entered.
"I guess I'll just nail a lid over that 'stiff,'" he muttered. "I've known cats to come in here and gnaw the hands and faces. There'll be an inquest to-morrow, and it'll be best to have it look decent."
Taking up a board, he placed it over the coffin in which Soft Tommy was sleeping.
Then he drove in half a dozen long nails.
The sound of the nailing roused Tommy, who tried to cry out, but the lid was so close to his face that he could not.
He felt a sense of suffocation.
In vain he endeavored to raise an alarm.
A nameless horror took possession of him. It was worse than a nightmare, or anything that can be produced by physical suffering.