One of the
fraternal seniors sat with sweltering Ramsey; and the latter, as his
time relentlessly came nearer, made a last miserable squirm.
"Look here, Brother Colburn, I got to get out o' here."
"No, you don't, young fellow."
"Yes, I do!" Ramsey whispered, passionately. "Honest, I do. Honest,
Brother Colburn, I got to get a drink of water. I _got_ to!"
"No. You can't."
"Honest, Colburn, I _got_--"
"Hush!"
Ramsey grunted feebly, and cast his dilating eyes along the rows of
faces. Most of them were but as blurs, swimming, yet he was aware (he
thought) of a formidable and horrible impassive scrutiny of himself, a
glare seeming to pierce through him to the back of the belt round his
waist, so that he began to have fearful doubts about that belt, about
every fastening and adjustment of his garments, about the expression of
his countenance, and about many other things jumbling together in his
consciousness. Over and over he whispered gaspingly to himself the
opening words of the sentence with which Colburn had advised him to
begin his argument.
Pages:
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97