"She left that there little brush somewheres," Mr. Poddle continued, with an effort to lift his head, but failing to do more than roll his glazed eyes. "There was a little handkerchief with it. Can't you find 'em, Richard? I wish you could. They make me--more comfortable. Oh, I'm glad you got 'em! I feel easier--this way. She said you'd stay with me--to the last. She said, Richard, that maybe you'd keep the hair away from my eyes, and the sweat from rollin' in. For I'm easier that way; and I want to _see_," he moaned, "to the last!" The boy pressed his hand. "I'm tired of the hair," Mr. Poddle sighed. "I used to be proud of it; but I'm tired of it--now. It's been admired, Richard; it's been applauded. Locks of it has been requested by the Fair; and the Strong has wished they was me. But, Richard, celebrities sits on a lonely eminence. And I _been_ lonely, God knows! though I kept a smilin' face.... I'm tired of the hair--tired of fame. It all looks different--when you git sight of the Common Leveller. 'Tired of His Talent.' Since I been lyin' here, Richard, sick and alone, I been thinkin' that talent wasn't nothin' much after all. I been wishin', Richard--wishin'!" The Dog-faced Man paused for breath. "I been wishin'," he gasped, "that I wasn't a phenomonen--but only a man!" The sunlight began to creep towards Mr. Poddle's bed--a broad, yellow beam, stretching into the blue spaces without: lying like a golden pathway before him. "Richard," said Mr. Poddle, "I'm goin' to die." The boy began to cry. "Don't cry!" Mr. Poddle pleaded. "I ain't afraid. Hear me, Richard? I ain't afraid." "No, no!" "I'm glad to die. 'Death the Dog-faced Man's Best Friend.' I'm glad! Lyin' here, I seen the truth. It's only when a man looks back that he finds out what he's missed--only when he looks back, from the end of the path, that he sees the flowers he might have plucked by the way.... Lyin' here, I been lookin' back--far back. And my eyes is opened. Now I see--now I know! I have been travellin' a road where the flowers grows thick. But God made me so I couldn't pick 'em. It's love, Richard, that men wants. Just love! It's love their hearts is thirsty for.... And there wasn't no love--for me. I been awful thirsty, Richard; but there wasn't no water anywhere in all the world--for me. 'Spoiled In the Making.' That's me. 'God's Bad Break.' Oh, that's me! I'm not a natural phenomonen no more. I'm only a freak of nature. I ain't got no kick comin'. I stand by what God done. Maybe it wasn't no mistake; maybe He wanted to show all the people in the world what would happen if He was in the habit of gittin' careless. Anyhow, I guess He's man enough to stand by the job He done. He made me what I am--a freak. I ain't to blame. But, oh, my God! Richard, it hurts--to be that!" The boy brushed the tears from the Dog-faced Man's eyes.