There was no blood in them. Trove helped him remove
his coat; all, save his imagination, was unharmed.
"Wal," said he, thoughtfully, "that's what ye git fer doin' suthin'
ye hadn't ought to. I ain't goin' t' take no more chances."
XXXVII
The Return of Santa Claus
Did ye hear the cock crow? By the beard of my father, I'd
forgotten you and myself and everything but the story. It's near
morning, and I've a weary tongue. Another log and one more pipe.
Then, sir, then I'll let you go. I'm near the end.
"Let me see--it's a winter day in New York City, after four years.
The streets are crowded. Here are men and women, but I see only
the horses,--you know, sir, how I love them. They go by with heavy
truck and cab, steaming, straining', slipping in the deep snow.
You hear the song of lashes, the whack of whips, and, now and then,
the shout of some bedevilled voice. Horses fall, and struggle, and
lie helpless, and their drivers--well, if I were to watch them
long, I should be in danger of madness and hell-fire. Well, here
is a big stable. A tall man has halted by its open door, and
addresses the manager.
"'I learn that you have a bay mare with starred face and a white
stocking.
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