Even as he arrived at this conclusion, it struck him that there was some connection between the peep-peeping of those whistles and the actions of the mechanical giant. Curlie blew the shortest whistle several times and the giant began a wild, frenzied dance; a longer whistle and he swung his arms and cracked his iron knuckles together; still another and he began snapping his clanking jaws.
Slowly it dawned upon Johnny that here was something quite marvelous; well worth watching to its very end; a battle between the brains of a boy and the brawn of a black rabble.
At that moment someone touched his arm. He turned about quite suddenly. It was the little doctor.
“Get it?” he asked.
“Yes, sir,” Johnny answered.
“Good! You made a marvelous trip. We shan’t need it though. I’m sorry. He’s gone. It’s all for the best.”
“Dead?”
“Dead.”
There was a moment of silence during which the giant once more blinked his eyes and cracked his knuckles together. Also from afar, but much nearer than before, came the rumble and growl of thunder.
“You win,” said the little doctor. “I am glad for that.”