"Yes, sir." The door closed, and it was too late. Too late for what? I was sure I didn't know, for there was nothing I could have done to prevent the search for Doe. Late emotion had left, I suppose, my imagination in an overwrought state. And I had reason to wonder if I was moving in a dream, when, after a knock at the door, Doe walked in, his eyes sparkling at having been sent for by the object of his worship.
"Now, Doe," began Radley, with a smile—
"This life's mostly froth and bubble.
Two things stand like stone:
Kindness in another's trouble,
Courage in your own.
Ray's just got a thousand lines of Cicero. But he understands all about 'courage in your own,' and you understand all about 'kindness in another's trouble.'"
"Yes, sir," agreed Doe, a bit bewildered, but instantly prepared to live up to this noble reputation.
"Well, what do you say to dictating some of the lines to him?"
"Rather, sir. I'll dictate them.... Besides, sir," he added, as if this explained everything, "Ray and I are twins."
§2
And not a game did Doe play until he had dictated all those lines. It occupied a week and two days. When I dropped my pen, having written the last word, the relief of thinking that I had no more lines to write was almost painful. I felt suddenly ill. My loins, aching alarmingly, reminded me that I had been in a sitting posture for many a weary hour; and my fingers, suffering from what I judged to be rheumatism or gout, fidgeted to go on writing. My mind, too, was confused so that I found myself repeating whole lines of Cicero, sometimes aloud; and my face was pale, save for a dangerous pink flush on the forehead.
Life, however, seemed brightened by the sense of a task completed, and I began to think of someone else besides myself.