Afifthweekpassed, andasixth, duringwhichhelivedandtoiledasamachine, withjustasparkofsomethingmoreinhim, justaglimmeringbitofsoul, thatcompelledhim, ateachweek-end, -machinelike, , withoutintendingit, tooweaktoresist, hedrifteddowntothevillagewithJoeanddrownedlifeandfoundlifeuntilMondaymorning.

Again, attheweek-ends, hegroundouttheonehundredandfortymiles, , andlivedagain, and, living, hesaw, inclearillumination, thebeasthewasmakingofhimself—notbythedrink, , , , wasthemessagethewhiskeywhisperedtohim, .

Hecalledforpaperandpencil, andfordrinksallaround, andwhiletheydrankhisverygoodhealth, heclungtothebarandscribbled.

"Atelegram, Joe," hesaid."Readit."

Joereaditwithadrunken, , tearsoozingintohiseyesanddownhischeeks.

"Youain'tgoin' backonme, Mart?" hequeriedhopelessly.

Martinnodded, andcalledoneoftheloungerstohimtotakethemessagetothetelegraphoffice.

"Holdon," Joemutteredthickly."Lemmethink."

Heheldontothebar, hislegswobblingunderhim, Martin'sarmaroundhimandsupportinghim, whilehethought.

"Makethattwolaundrymen," hesaidabruptly."Here, lemmefixit."

"Whatareyouquittingfor?" Martindemanded.

"Samereasonasyou."

"ButI''tdothat."

"Nope," wastheanswer, "butIcanhoboallright, allright."

Martinlookedathimsearchinglyforamoment, thencried:-

"ByGod, Ithinkyou'reright! , man, you''smorethanyoueverdidbefore."

"Iwasinhospital, once," Joecorrected."—didItellyou?"

WhileMartinchangedthetelegramto "twolaundrymen," Joewenton:-