He's left a boy, same name, that used to go to school here,
but, thank Heaven, he's got lots of money, and probably won't trouble
us any more. Perhaps he's the one you want."
"Are you sure the boy's father is dead? I saw him in Boston
yesterday."
"I don't take any stock in any such nonsense. This ain't the days of
miracles."
"I saw him in this town this morning."
"Where?" gasped Strout.
"Right here. That's my name, Quincy Adams Sawyer. Do you want me to
identify myself?" He stepped back, puckered up his mouth, and began
whistling "Listen to the Mocking Bird."
Strout was both startled and mad. "Just like you to come spyin'
round. You allers was a meddler, an' underhanded. But now you know
the truth, what are you going to do about it?"
Quincy walked to the door. "Well, Mr. Strout, I'm going to put it
about as you did when I first came to Mason's Corner, Either you or I
have got to leave town. This is our last fight, and I'm going to
win."
He left the store quickly and made his way to where Ezekiel was
waiting for him with the carryall.
"Now, 'Zeke, we'll go to the Hospital and see poor Hiram."
They found him hobbling about on crutches in the grounds of the
Hospital.
"How long have you been here, Hiram?" was Quincy's first question.
"About twelve weeks. You see, besides breaking my leg I cracked my
knee pan an' that's made it wuss.
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