“I haven’t done such a thing since I was—since I used to say: ‘Eenty Deenty Donty,’—no, that ain’t it, neither. ‘Now I lay me?’ That’s more like it. But that don’t seem appropriate to the circumstances, sir.”
“Try again, Job.”
“’Tain’t no use, Mr. Bayard. I’m a goner. If I couldn’t keep sober for you, I ain’t ergointer for no Creetur I never see nor spoke to,—nor no man ever see nor spoke to,—a thousand fathoms up overhead.”
Job lifted his trembling arms high and higher towards the dark sky.
“Pray!” reiterated Bayard.
“I can’t do it, sir!”
“Pray!” commanded Bayard.
“Oh,—God!” gasped Job.
Bayard took off his hat. Job’s arms fell; his face dropped into them; he shook from head to foot.