"
And then he condescended to borrow a quarter from me.
VIII
TIME AND THE TOMBSTONE
Tommy McGuffy was growing old. The skin of his attenuated face was so
shrunk and so stretched from wrinkle to wrinkle that it seemed narrowly
to escape breaking. About the pointed chin and the cheekbones it had the
colour of faded brick.
Old Tommy had become so thin that he dared not venture to the top of the
hill above his native village of Rearward on a windy day.
His knees bent comically when he walked.
For some years the villagers had been counting the nephews and nieces to
whom the savings of the old retired dealer in dry-goods would eventually
descend.
Ten thousand dollars and a house and lot constituted a heritage worth
anticipating in Rearward.
The innocent old man was not upon terms of intimacy with his prospective
heirs. Having remained unmarried, his only close associates were two who
had been his companions in that remote period which had been his boyhood.
One of these, Jerry Hurley, was a childless widower, a very estimable
and highly respected man who owned two farms.
Pages:
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102