Ramsey tapped. He sprang to the door and without opening it answered: "Yes, in a minute. He—he's all right."
At the wash-stand he lifted the phial of black-drop still half full. As quietly as if the dose were a dram at the bar he filled the measuring—glass and drank its last drop. Then he turned to the door and barely opened it.
"He's all right, Ramsey.... Yes.... Yes. He's done just the right thing. So have I. Now, go away, please, wherever you like, only don't—stay—here just to bother us. I'll merely lie down beside him without—What?... No, go away! You'll find us all right in the morning."
LXIII
THE CAPTAIN'S CHAIR
On the next afternoon but one, while hundreds went down to the steamboat landing to view the new Enchantress, there was a double funeral in the old French cemetery, Saint Louis Street, New Orleans.
Returning from it together, Watson and his former "cub" spoke of Gideon Hayle.
"He takes the loss of them boys harder'n what I'd 'a' thought he would," said the younger pilot.
And Watson replied: "Yes, but he don't take it as hard as what, years ago, he tuck their fust refus'n' to go with him on the river."