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We
keep
telling
you
the
way
we
do
things
around
here
and
you
keep
doing
things
your
own
way
,
then
hiding
behind
your
political
connections
when
things
turn
out
wrong
.
Stepping
on
Delacroix
's
mouse
--
"
Brutal
caught
my
eye
and
I
backtracked
in
a
hurry
.
"
Trying
to
step
on
Delacroix
's
mouse
is
just
a
case
in
point
.
You
push
and
push
and
push
;
we
're
finally
pushing
back
,
that
's
all
.
But
listen
,
if
you
do
right
,
you
'll
come
out
of
this
looking
good
--
like
a
young
man
on
his
way
up
--
and
smelling
like
a
rose
.
Nobody
'll
ever
know
about
this
little
talk
we
're
having
.
So
what
do
you
say
?
Act
like
a
grownup
.
Promise
you
'll
leave
after
Del.
"
He
thought
it
over
.
And
after
a
moment
or
two
,
a
look
came
into
his
eyes
,
the
sort
of
look
a
fellow
gets
when
he
's
just
had
a
good
idea
.
I
did
n't
like
it
much
,
because
any
idea
which
seemed
good
to
Percy
would
n't
seem
good
to
us
.
"
If
nothing
else
,
"
Brutal
said
,
"
just
think
how
nice
it
'd
be
to
get
away
from
that
sack
of
pus
Wharton
.
"
Percy
nodded
,
and
I
let
him
get
out
of
the
chair
.
He
straightened
his
uniform
shirt
,
tucked
it
in
at
the
back
,
gave
his
hair
a
pass-through
with
his
comb
.
Then
he
looked
at
us
.
"
Okay
,
I
agree
.
I
'm
out
front
for
Del
tomorrow
night
;
I
'll
put
in
for
Briar
Ridge
the
very
next
day
.
We
call
it
quits
right
there
.
Good
enough
?
"
"
Good
enough
,
"
I
said
.
That
look
was
still
in
his
eyes
,
but
right
then
I
was
too
relieved
to
care
.
He
stuck
out
his
hand
.
"
Shake
on
it
?
"
I
did
.
So
did
Brutal
More
fools
us
.
The
next
day
was
the
thickest
yet
,
and
the
last
of
our
strange
October
heat
.
Thunder
was
rumbling
in
the
west
when
I
came
to
work
,
and
the
dark
clouds
were
beginning
to
stack
up
there
.
They
moved
closer
as
the
night
came
down
,
and
we
could
see
blue-white
forks
of
lightning
jabbing
out
of
them
.
There
was
a
tornado
in
Trapingus
County
around
ten
that
night
--
it
killed
four
people
and
tore
the
roof
off
the
livery
stable
in
Tefton
--
and
vicious
thunderstorms
and
gale-force
winds
at
Cold
Mountain
.
Later
it
seemed
to
me
as
if
the
very
heavens
had
protested
the
bad
death
of
Eduard
Delacroix
.
Everything
went
just
fine
to
begin
with
.
Del
had
spent
a
quiet
day
in
his
cell
,
sometimes
playing
with
Mr.
Jingles
but
mostly
just
lying
on
his
bunk
and
petting
him
.
Wharton
tried
to
get
trouble
started
a
couple
of
times
--
once
he
hollered
down
to
Del
about
the
mousieburgers
they
were
going
to
have
after
old
Lucky
Pierre
was
dancing
the
two-step
in
hell
--
but
the
little
Cajun
did
n't
respond
and
Wharton
,
apparently
deciding
that
was
his
best
shot
,
gave
it
up
.
