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 and me we kind of figgered… seein’ as how you was goin’ to be some’eres else—quite a spell… Gol darn it! Here, take the damn thing, and maybe—with this here a-layin’ in your pocket—you’ll kind of rec’lect the’s sich folks as Bishwhang and me—back here in this consarned town….”

Mechanically Angus accepted the pasteboard box, scarcely comprehending that it was a gift, a farewell gift. He made no movement to examine it…. Bishwhang gulped, waggled his arms excitedly, waiting for Angus to take off the cover. This presentation was the great achievement of Bishwhang’s life, the one glowing thing which, from the dull years which lay before him, he could look back upon with a feeling that he had once lived, acted, participated. Still Angus remained motionless.

“It’s yourn,” urged Bishwhang. “Open her up, can’t ye? Me’n Jake—we got it fur ye.”

Angus removed the cover and saw within a silver watch of enormous proportions, near to an inch in thickness, open-faced, with a tick so loud it could be heard distinctly even when hidden away in a pocket. Bishwhang and Jake waited breathlessly for him to speak. Angus regarded the watch, stared at Jake and Bishwhang stonily, expressionlessly, and then happened a thing to remember. From his eye there welled a tear