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 springs had been removed, and this was, in a measure true, for Dave Wilkins was the mainspring of each of them.

“He’s a-goin’ to die,” Bishwhang said chokingly.

“Shet up…. Hain’t goin’ to nuther.”

Then, moved by a common impulse, they followed in the wake of the carriage.

“He never knowed me,” said Bishwhang. “He never even knowed who I was.”

“He was out of his head,” said Jake.

“Do folks die of it?”

“Folks die of anythin’ they set their minds to.”

They walked to the house where Dave lay, passed it, turned again like sentinels and continued to trudge to and fro, waiting, waiting.

“Mebby they’ll need us,” said Bishwhang, uttering their common thought, so they held themselves near and ready.

When Lydia emerged after her encounter with the doctor’s hat they followed her eagerly, but she went too swiftly for them, and they resumed their pacing for upwards of an hour when Doctor Knipe, holding ruefully in his hands the remains of his headgear, emerged. Bishwhang and Jake waylaid him at the step of his carriage.

“Look at that,” he snorted. “Smashed…. Good’s new, too. Hain’t owned it more’n ten-twelve year….” He seemed suddenly to