They remained silent awhile, after this, then Musgrave went on, in a stronger voice:
“This is what I wanted to say. Seems very apparent, they—this—unfortunate couple, have little or no money—”
The Sergeant nodded, and cleared his throat. “Very little,” he said. “Man’s got a few dollars left—seven-fifty, or something like that.”
“Well, now; look!” said the doctor. “These two will have a decent burial in the cemetery here, at my expense. It’s my wish.” And, as Ellis raised a protesting hand, “No, no, my boy—let be! You’re not immaculate, God knows, but, by the Lord Harry! you’re a better man than I am, and I respect you for many things.... ‘As ye sow, so shall ye reap.’... It’s thirty years since I heard that text; I forgot it the same day, and never thought of it again till now. There may be truth in it. I say, for the peace of my soul, let me do this thing; and little though it is—may the Recording Angel—if there is one—remember it as something in my favor when my time comes.”
Ellis never forgot those words, nor the weary, bitter, hopeless look that accompanied them; and, long years afterwards, their remembrance rushed back to his mind with vivid distinctness, as he held poor Musgrave’s dying head.
Drearily he wended his way up the main street, his mind preoccupied with the problem of fulfilling the coroner’s final request. He knew comparatively few of the male—let alone, the female, community, of the little town and, somehow, he instinctively shrank at the thought of having to approach strange women anent such a delicate duty. In his perplexity he went to Carey, and besought the latter’s advice.
The agent mused a space. “Let’s see,” he said. “There’s Mrs. Steele—she’s head of the Women’s Church Guild here, and there’s Mrs. Parsons, and Mrs. Macleod. You go and see them. They ought to be able to help you out. I’ll tell you where they live.”
With a vague feeling of uneasiness, Ellis departed, and presently found himself at Mrs. Steele’s abode. A gray-haired, elderly woman, with a high-featured, severe face, answered his summons and, with some trepidation, he broached the subject of his visit. She listened impatiently, her hard eyes narrowing and her thin lips compressing themselves into a straight line.
“No!” she snapped coldly, as he ended. “I don’t—an’ what’s more ... I wouldn’t think of asking—or expecting—any decent woman to go getting herself mixed up in such a scandalous business as this.”
And she began to slowly thrust the door to. “Such shockin’ goin’s on in a decent, God-fearing neighborhood!” she shrilled. “Wicked hussies walkin’ the street, an’—an’ men being shot—an’ all, an’ all.... God help the town that has to depend on the likes of you policemen to keep such bad characters away!”