t so bad fixed as aall that. Take yer
time. Get that board out o' the way there, Jimmie."

But he was badly "fixed," and "hurted" unto death also, as we now found,
and as he insisted he was not. His hip was severely crushed by the
timbers and his legs broken, as well as his internal organs disarranged,
although we did not know how badly at the time. Only after we had
removed all the weight did he collapse and perhaps personally realize
how serious was his plight. He was laid on a canvas tarpaulin brought by
the yard-master and spread on the chip-strewn ground, while the doctors
from two ambulances worked over him. While they were examining his
wounds he took a critical and quizzical interest in what they were
doing, and offered one or two humorous suggestions. Finally, when they
were ready to move him he asked how he was, and on being told that he
was all right, looked curiously about until he caught my eye. I could
see that he realized how critical it was with him.

"I'd like to see a priest, Teddy," he whispered, "and, if ye don't mind,
I'd like ye to go up to Mount Vernon an' tell me wife. They'll be after
telegraphin' her if ye don't. Break it aisy, if ye will. Don't let 'er
think there's anything serious. There's no need av it. I'm naht hurted
so bad as aall that."

I promised, and the next moment one of the doctors shot a spray of
cocaine into his hip to relieve what he knew must be his dreadful pain.
A few moments later he lost consciousness, after which I left him to the
care of the hospital authorities and hurried away to send the priest and
to tell his wife.

For a week thereafter he lingered in a very serious condition and
finally died, blood-poisoning having set in. I saw him at the hospital a
day or two before, and, trying to sympathize with his condition, I
frequently spoke of what I deemed the dreadful uncertainty of life and
the seeming carelessness of the engineer in charge of the hoisting
engine. He, however, had no complaint to make.

"Ye must expect thim things," was his only comment. "Ye can't aalways
expect to go unhurted. I niver lost a man before, nor had one come to
haarm. 'Tis the way av things, ye see."

Mighty Rourke! You would have thought the whole Italian population of
Mount Vernon knew and loved him, the way they turned out at his funeral.
It was a state affair for most of them, and they came in scores, packing
the little brick church at which he was accustomed to worship full to
o