"Jerry never deserved such treatment," Tommy would say to Billy the sexton,
as the two met to talk it over every sunny afternoon.
"It's an outrage, that's what it is!" Billy would reply, for the hundredth
time.
It was, in their eyes, an omission almost equal to that of baptism or that
of the funeral service.
One day, as Tommy was aiding himself along the main street of Rearward by
means of a hickory stick, a frightful thought came to him. He turned cold.
What if his own heirs should neglect to mark his own grave?
"I'll hurry home at once, and put the money for it in a stocking foot,"
thought Tommy, and his knees bent more than usually as he accelerated his
pace.
But as he tied a knot in the stocking, came the fear that even this money
might be misapplied; even his will might be ignored, through repeated
postponement and the law's indifference.
Who, save old Billy Skidmore, would care whether old Tommy McGuffy's last
resting-place were designated or not? Once let the worms begin operations
upon this antique morsel, what would it matter to Rearward folks where the
banquet was taking place?
Tommy now underwent a second attack of horror, from which he came
victorious, a gleeful smile momentarily lifting the dimness from his
excessively lachrymal eyes.
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