“The Man Who Will Come,” says Binney, pronouncing it impressive, as if every word commenced with a capital letter. The way he said it made you sort of worry. The Man Who Will Come! Sounded like a threat. It was a sort of name. As a matter of fact it got to be a name, and we never called him anything else, even when we knew what his real name was.
“He’ll make five,” says Plunk. “That’s one apiece. We ain’t outnumbered, anyhow.”
“They’re men and we’re boys,” says Binney.
Mark was looking at Motu and thinking hard. I could tell that because he was pinching his ear.
“Motu,” says he, “I want to a-a-ask you just one question. It will make a d-difference how we act.”
“Ask,” says Motu.
“Will those men h-hurt you? I mean will they—injure you?”
“No,” says Motu. “They will seize me and hold me. I must not be seized and held. I must be free.”
“All right,” says Mark.
I heard Binney muttering to himself and listened. He was saying over and over again, “The Man Who Will Come.... The Man Who Will Come....”