"
They were moving in upon him quickly, groping, yet moving
rapidly. It was like playing blind man's buff with everyone
blindfolded except one. "Get hold of him!" cried one. He found
himself in the arc of a loose curve of pursuers. He felt suddenly
he must be active and resolute.
"You don't understand," he cried, in a voice that was meant to
be great and resolute, and which broke. "You are blind and I can
see. Leave me alone!"
"Bogota! Put down that spade and come off the grass!"
The last order, grotesque in its urban familiarity, produced
a gust of anger. "I'll hurt you," he said, sobbing with emotion.
"By Heaven, I'll hurt you! Leave me alone!"
He began to run--not knowing clearly where to run. He ran
from the nearest blind man, because it was a horror to hit him. He
stopped, and then made a dash to escape from their closing ranks.
He made for where a gap was wide, and the men on either side, with
a quick perception of the approach of his paces, rushed in on one
another. He sprang forward, and then saw he must be caught, and
SWISH! the spade had struck. He felt the soft thud of hand
and arm, and the man was down with a yell of pain, and he was
through.
Through! And then he was close to the street of houses again,
and blind men, whirling spades and stakes, were running with a
reasoned swiftness hither and thither.
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