wrapper. His eyes were wild with fury, old confusion, old anguish.
He now roared about his factory senselessly, standing between David and the door. The boy stood very still. He had seen many mad people in the poorhouse, over on crazy row. He knew what he must do. He smiled at Luther, who became calm.
“David!” the man began to weep. “I don’t know. I done everything right. They only had to tell me once. ‘Don’t use spit,’ the man said. ‘Use water from that pitcher.’ ” He looked about the broken room wildly for the missing pitcher.
In an excess of violence he thrust David away from him. “You got my pitcher! Paul! Where you hide my pitcher?” David stood very still. In a wild rage the crazy Dutchman heaved his chunk of broken wood through the broken window. Then he leaped at David, shouting, “I’ll kill you, Paul!”
But David managed to evade the frenzied dive, and Luther sprawled into the broken glass. With a cry of pain he brushed away the slivers of glass that tore at his hands and leaped once more at the boy. This time he caught David by the belt. With a tremendous jerk he ripped the boy backwards and lifted him high in the air. For a long moment he stood with the boy, ready to throw him through the broken window. And then some glimmer of light found its way into his addled mind. The Dutchman grinned at David and tossed the trembling boy onto the bed.
The door burst open and two guards leaped at the crazy man. Feeling their hands upon his body, Luther made a last violent gesture and threw the men against the wall. Then he leaped for the open door, but one of the guards tripped him, and he fell forward, so that his face smashed sickeningly into the sharp corner of the door jamb. Mad Luther, his facesmashed in, his hands stabbed with glass, and his knees bleeding, fell backwards into the room.
The scene had been so macabre that for a moment the old men forgot David, and while the guards hauled Luther over to crazy row, the boy slipped into his own room to wash away the flecks of blood that Luther’s frenzied hands had left. Suddenly Toothless Tom cried, “Where’s the boy?”
From the door of his own room David answered, “I’m all right.”
“Did he hurt you?” the excited men demanded, and David, remembering that single flash of recognition on the madman’s face, replied, “He wouldn’t hurt anybody.”
Lights went out, and the old men, nervous from having seen something of themselves in mad Luther, went silently to their lonely rooms. After a time Toothless rapped on Door 8. “Come in!” David whispered eagerly, for he too was lonely, but from a different cause.
“I don’t think Luther would hurt you,” Tom reasoned.
“I don’t think so, either,” David agreed. He knew that what had happened between him and Luther had been a kind of game, a passionate, wild affair in which one of the players was mad, but not so mad as to forget who the sandy-haired boy was.
But it was more than a game, and David asked, “Did lots of these people come to the poorhouse because of things other people did to them?”
“I wouldn’t say so,” the toothless old man replied. “Luther did, but he ain’t bright enough to run loose, anyway. I don’t know about Old Daniel. Some men just ain’t intended to make a livin’. As for me?” Tom paused. “I tell you what, David. You seen that long skinny man come in here a while ago? Iron bars couldn’t keep him in. Nor his wife, neither. If I been like him, I’d sure be outta here by now. Don’t that stand to reason?” He paused again, for a very long time, and in the darkness David could almost hear him thinking. Finally he said, “You mark my words. For the next fifteen years ain’t nobody comin’ on this hall but what he claims Mr. Crouthamel done it to him. Whadda you think? You think one man done it all?”
For a moment Toothless Tom’s argument convinced the boy, but then on the crazy row Luther Detwiler recovered
He now roared about his factory senselessly, standing between David and the door. The boy stood very still. He had seen many mad people in the poorhouse, over on crazy row. He knew what he must do. He smiled at Luther, who became calm.
“David!” the man began to weep. “I don’t know. I done everything right. They only had to tell me once. ‘Don’t use spit,’ the man said. ‘Use water from that pitcher.’ ” He looked about the broken room wildly for the missing pitcher.
In an excess of violence he thrust David away from him. “You got my pitcher! Paul! Where you hide my pitcher?” David stood very still. In a wild rage the crazy Dutchman heaved his chunk of broken wood through the broken window. Then he leaped at David, shouting, “I’ll kill you, Paul!”
But David managed to evade the frenzied dive, and Luther sprawled into the broken glass. With a cry of pain he brushed away the slivers of glass that tore at his hands and leaped once more at the boy. This time he caught David by the belt. With a tremendous jerk he ripped the boy backwards and lifted him high in the air. For a long moment he stood with the boy, ready to throw him through the broken window. And then some glimmer of light found its way into his addled mind. The Dutchman grinned at David and tossed the trembling boy onto the bed.
The door burst open and two guards leaped at the crazy man. Feeling their hands upon his body, Luther made a last violent gesture and threw the men against the wall. Then he leaped for the open door, but one of the guards tripped him, and he fell forward, so that his face smashed sickeningly into the sharp corner of the door jamb. Mad Luther, his facesmashed in, his hands stabbed with glass, and his knees bleeding, fell backwards into the room.
The scene had been so macabre that for a moment the old men forgot David, and while the guards hauled Luther over to crazy row, the boy slipped into his own room to wash away the flecks of blood that Luther’s frenzied hands had left. Suddenly Toothless Tom cried, “Where’s the boy?”
From the door of his own room David answered, “I’m all right.”
“Did he hurt you?” the excited men demanded, and David, remembering that single flash of recognition on the madman’s face, replied, “He wouldn’t hurt anybody.”
Lights went out, and the old men, nervous from having seen something of themselves in mad Luther, went silently to their lonely rooms. After a time Toothless rapped on Door 8. “Come in!” David whispered eagerly, for he too was lonely, but from a different cause.
“I don’t think Luther would hurt you,” Tom reasoned.
“I don’t think so, either,” David agreed. He knew that what had happened between him and Luther had been a kind of game, a passionate, wild affair in which one of the players was mad, but not so mad as to forget who the sandy-haired boy was.
But it was more than a game, and David asked, “Did lots of these people come to the poorhouse because of things other people did to them?”
“I wouldn’t say so,” the toothless old man replied. “Luther did, but he ain’t bright enough to run loose, anyway. I don’t know about Old Daniel. Some men just ain’t intended to make a livin’. As for me?” Tom paused. “I tell you what, David. You seen that long skinny man come in here a while ago? Iron bars couldn’t keep him in. Nor his wife, neither. If I been like him, I’d sure be outta here by now. Don’t that stand to reason?” He paused again, for a very long time, and in the darkness David could almost hear him thinking. Finally he said, “You mark my words. For the next fifteen years ain’t nobody comin’ on this hall but what he claims Mr. Crouthamel done it to him. Whadda you think? You think one man done it all?”
For a moment Toothless Tom’s argument convinced the boy, but then on the crazy row Luther Detwiler recovered
Similar Books
