me. 'God's Bad Break.' Oh, that's
me! I'm not a natural phenomonen no more. I'm only a freak of nature.
I ain't got no kick comin'. I stand by what God done. Maybe it wasn't
no mistake; maybe He wanted to show all the people in the world what
would happen if He was in the habit of gittin' careless. Anyhow, I
guess He's man enough to stand by the job He done. He made me what I
am--a freak. I ain't to blame. But, oh, my God! Richard, it
hurts--to be that!"

The boy brushed the tears from the Dog-faced Man's eyes.

"No," Mr. Poddle repeated. "I ain't afraid to die. For I been
thinkin'--since I been lyin' here, sick and alone--I been thinkin' that
us mistakes has a good deal----"

The boy bent close.

"Comin' to us!"

The sunlight was climbing the bed-post.

"I been lookin' back," Mr. Poddle repeated. "Things don't look the
same. You gits a bird's-eye view of life--from your deathbed. And it
looks--somehow--different."

There was a little space of silence--while the Dog-faced Man drew long
breaths: while his wasted hand wandered restlessly over the coverlet.

"You got the little brush, Richard?" he asked, his voice changing to a
tired sigh. "The adornment has got in the way again."

The boy brushed back the fallen hair--wiped away the sweat.

"Your mother," said Mr. Poddle, faintly smiling, "does it better.
She's used--to doing it. You ain't--done it--quite right--have you?
You ain't got--all them hairs--out of the way?"

"Yes."

"Not all," Mr. Poddle gently persisted; "because I can't--see--very
well."

While the boy humoured the fancy, Mr. Poddle lay musing--his hand still
straying over the coverlet: still feverishly searching.

"I used to think, Richard," he whispered, "that it ought to be done--in
public." He paused--a flash of alarm in his eyes. "Do you hear me,
Richard?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Sure?"

"Oh, yes!"

Mr. Poddle frowned--puzzled, it may be, by the distant sound, the
muffled, failing rumble, of his own voice.

"I used to think," he repeated, dismissing the problem, as beyond him,
"that I'd like to do it--in public."

The boy waited.

"Die," Mr. Poddle explained.

A man went whistling gaily past the door. The merry air, the buoyant
step, were strangely not discordant; nor was the sunshine, falling over
the foot of the bed.

"'Last Appearance of a Famous Freak!'" Mr. Poddle elucidated, his eyes
shining with delight--returning, all at once, to his old manner. "Git
me, Richard?" he continued, excitedly. "'Fitting Finale! Close of a
Curious Career! Mr. Henry Poddle, the eminent natural phenomonen, has
consented to depart this life on the stage of Hockley's Musee, on
Sunday next, in the presence of three physicians, a trained nurse, a
minister of the gospel and a undertaker. Unparalleled Entertainment!
The management has been at unprecedented expense to git this unique
feature. Death Defied! A Extraordinary Educational Exhibition! Note:
Mr. Poddle will do his best to oblige his admirers and the patrons of
the house by dissolving the mortal tie about the hour of ten o'clock;
but the management cannot guarantee that the exhibition will conclude
before midnight.'" Mr. Poddle made a wry face--with yet a glint of
humour about it. "'Positively,'" said he, "'the last appearance of
this eminent freak. No return engagement.'"

Again the buoyant step in the hall, the gaily whistled air--departing:
leaving an expectant silence.

"Do it," Mr. Poddle gasped, worn out, "in public. But since I been
lyin' here," he added, "lookin' back, I seen the error. The public,
Richard, has no feelin'. They'd laugh--if I groaned. I don't like the
public--no more. I don't want to die--in public. I want," he
concluded, his voice falling to a thin, exhausted whisper, "only your
mother--and you, Richard--and----"

"Did you say--Her?"

"The Lovely One!"

"I'll bring her!" said the boy, impulsively.

"No, no! She wouldn't