"Just for nothing, Hicks," assented the Doctor, rising to close the painful interview, "and, Hicks, as one last favour, we would like to request that it be by the evening train. We have lost a great deal of sleep lately."
"Just for nothing," repeated Hickey, hoarsely.
"Just for nothing," replied the Doctor, as he closed the door.
At six o'clock, in the midst of indignant hundreds, Hickey climbed to the top of the stage, where his trunks had already been deposited. Nothing could comfort him, neither the roaring cheers that echoed again and again to his name, nor the hundreds of silent hand-shakes or muttered vows to continue the good fight. His spirit was broken. All was dark before him. Neither right nor justice existed in the world.
Egghead and Macnooder, visibly affected, reached up for the last hand-shakes.
"Keep a stiff upper lip, old man," said the Egghead.
"Don't you worry, Hickey, old boy," said Macnooder; "we'll attend to Tabby."
Then Hickey, bitterly, from the caverns of his heart, spoke, raising his fist toward Tabby's study window.