“Geeminy gosh!” he shrilled. “Is all that shootin’ over?”
“It’s all over, buddy,” said Brick weakly. “There ain’t goin’ to be no more shootin’—not for a while, I hope.”
“I hope there never will be again,” said Santel slowly. “It don’t pay.”
He swayed sidewise on his hands and sank down on his face.
“When do I see my daddy?” asked Whizzer impatiently.
Brick drew the youngster to him with his one good arm, and looked around at the crowd, as if appealing to them for an answer.
“You better see a doctor, Brick,” advised Harp. “You’re losin’ a lot of blood.”
“Ain’t nobody goin’ to tell me where my dad is?” demanded Whizzer. “Is he out on his trip?”
“Yeah, he’s out on his trip,” whispered Brick.
Whizzer turned his head and looked out through the open door into the darkness. He knew that his father always came home before dark. His eyes came back to Brick, as he said—