"Yes," I agreed, "yes.—But what about the man?"
"Well, that man, now. The record's comin' to the end and I go back in to start it over. And, here's this hobo, come in behind me.
"'What's that?' says he, pointin' to the record I got in my hand.
"Then he grabs it and looks it over. He keeps turnin' it round and round and round, starin' at it.
"'I hope you'll know it again,' says I, with a laugh.
"My laugh seems to set him off into a shiver. Then down he throws that record o' mine onto the floor and stamps on it; busts it into a million pieces under his boots. I been tellin' you he's crazy.
"'Here there!' I yell at him.
"He looks at me. Looks right through me, it seems and beyond, with them there red-rimmed eyes.
"'Seas o' blood,' says he. That's all. 'Seas o' blood!'
"Then he turns around, walks out into the waitin' room, and sits down in a heap in the farthest corner. Never another peep. There he sits till daylight, and the nigger woman, with the horse blanket on again, she sits there beside him, holdin' his hand.