as he lay dying in the street, wilmot thought of all the embarrassing and humiliating moments in his life.
he went through them in his mind with surprising speed.
really, he mused, there had not been so many as all that.
it had not really been so bad, after all.
and who besides himself would remember any of them?
most of the people who witnessed them or heard of them were probably dead, as he would be shortly.
he heard the ambulance arrive.
he closed his eyes.
at that moment, no more than two miles away, at the hail fellows club, marsden was enjoying his cigar and talking of old times with murchison.
"do you remember wilmot? for some reason i thought of him this morning, just as i was putting a sausage in my mouth."
"wilmot? oh yes, that fellow!"
"do you remember the time at the cup dinner - must have been around 89 -" marsden began to sputter and giggle - "with the bus boy ? -"
there was no need to finish the story.
they both began to roar with laughter.
jones came over and joined them.
A sad tale, but someone had to tell it.
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