Now the old man went to a telephone and rang long and briskly
to awaken the boy who slept in the central office. Peter fidgeted as the
old Captain stood with receiver to ear.
"Hard to wake." The old gentleman spoke into the transmitter, but was
talking to Peter. "Don't be so uneasy, Peter. Human beings are harder to
kill than you think."
There was a kindliness, even a fellowship, in Captain Renfrew's tones
that spread like oil over Peter's raw nerves. It occurred to the negro
that this was the first time he had been addressed as an authentic human
being since his conversation with the two Northern men on the Pullman,
up in Illinois. It surprised him. It was sufficient to take his mind
momentarily from his mother. He looked a little closely at the old man
at the telephone. The Captain wore few indices of kindness. Lines of
settled sarcasm netted his eyes and drooped away from his old mouth. The
very swell of his full temples and their crinkly veins marked a sardonic
old man.
At last he roused central over the wire, and impressed upon him the
necessity of creating a stridor in Dr.
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