against his knee while he rapidly unlaced his boots, removed them, tied the strings together and slung them around his neck—his stockinged feet would cling where his boots would give him no chance at all. Then, as though it were a baby, he raised the other in his arms and began carefully to make his way along the peak of the roof.
Once, twice and again he slipped, recovered himself and went on. The smoke blew clear for an instant and left him outlined against space, a grim, gaunt figure, moving slowly on his perilous footing, his burden in his arms—and from below in a mad roar, bursting from the full hearts of men, came cheer on cheer. Varge heard it, attributed it to the fire-tub at last in play—and kept steadily, doggedly on. Like a fly crawling around a wall, his burden shifted to one arm and shoulder, leaving the other hand free to cling to the brick, he passed the chimney. A moment more, and the top of the ladder was gained. Here, others took the man from him; and then, putting on his boots again, Varge swung himself onto the rungs.
As he reached the ground, a hand fell upon his shoulder. He turned—and his eyes met Doctor Kreelmar's.
"Hum!" grunted the little doctor. "Come out here in front where you can get some fresh air into your lungs."
"I'm all right," said Varge, with a glance toward the barn where they were changing gangs on the fire-tub. "I—"
"You do what you're told," snapped the doctor, "or I'll see that you get a day of solitary—what? Now, march!"
