“All men come to the gate,” answered Billy promptly.
“They came,” said Thomas Murphy. “I got up on a box, so I could see the whole of ’em.
“‘Men,’ said I, ‘that boy, William, is lyin’ onconscious, dangerous. He’s a-lyin’ there because the super had an enemy.
“‘Where would you get the food you’re a-eatin’ and the shoes you’re a-wearin’, if there wasn’t a mill to work in? Where would that mill be if it wasn’t for the super’s money?
“‘Are there any more enemies in this mill?
“‘To-morrow mornin’,’ said I, an’ they knew I meant what I said, ‘there’ll be two marks agin your names; and one’ll tell whether you’re a friend or a foe. The time has come. You are dismissed.’”
“Was every man a friend?” asked Billy, leaning forward eagerly.
“William,” answered Thomas Murphy, leaning forward, and punctuating his words with his stiff forefinger, “every one of ’em, William. Every one, to a man.”
“I’m glad of that,” said Billy. “You were a true friend, Mr. Murphy.”
“William,” said Thomas Murphy, sitting erect in his chair, “that’s what the super said—his very words: ‘Thomas Murphy, you’re a true friend.’”