Chapter 2

           "Woooee,boys!"Whartonlaughed."Ain’tthisaparty,now?Isit,orwhat?"

           Stillscreamingandlaughing,WhartonwentbacktochokingDeanwithhischain.Whynot?WhartonknewwhatDeanandHarryandmyfriendBrutusHowellknew—theycouldonlyfryamanonce.

           "Hithim!"HarryTerwilligerscreamed.HehadgrappledwithWharton,triedtostopthingsbeforetheygotfairlystarted,butWhartonhadthrownhimoffandnowHarrywastryingtofindhisfeet."Percy,hithim!"

           ButPercyonlystoodthere,hickorybatoninhand,eyesaswideassoup-plates.Helovedthatdamnedbatonofhis,andyouwouldhavesaidthiswasthechancetouseithe’dbeenpiningforeversincehecametoColdMountainPenitentiary...butnowthatithadcome,hewastooscaredtousetheopportunity.Thiswasn’tsometerrifiedlittleFrenchmanlikeDelacroixorablackgiantwhohardlyseemedtoknowhewasinhisownbody,likeJohnCoffey;thiswasawhirlingdevil.

           IcameoutofWharton’scell,droppingmyclipboardandpullingmy.38.ForthesecondtimethatdayIhadforgottentheinfectionthatwasheatingupmymiddle.Ididn’tdoubtthestorytheotherstoldofWharton’sblankfaceanddulleyeswhentheyrecounteditlater,butthatwasn’ttheWhartonIsaw.WhatIsawwasthefaceofananimal—notanintelligentanimal,butonefilledwithcunning...andmeanness...andjoy.Yes.Hewasdoingwhathehadbeenmadetodo.Theplaceandthecircumstancesdidn’tmatter.