As they went they talked but little, but the tramp kept up a constant muttering to himself. He was troubled by the thought of hydrophobia.
“I know I’ll ’ave it,” he said, “I know I’ll get it.”
Bealby after a time ceased to listen to his companion. His mind was preoccupied. He could think of nothing but that very white man in the chair and the strange manner of his movement.
“Was ’e awake when you saw ’im?” he asked at last.
“Awake—who?”
“That old man.”
For a moment or so the tramp said nothing. “’E wasn’t awake, you young silly,” he said at last.
“But—wasn’t he?”
“Why!—don’t you know! ’E’d croaked,—popped off the ’ooks—very moment you saw ’im.”
For a moment Bealby’s voice failed him.