Sidney waited. He nodded slowly. Then he went over to the screen door, opened it quickly, and vomited out onto the geraniums and petunias and morning glories all growing wild in disarray. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and came back on in.

Roy was busy with collecting the nails out of a box, and had brought out two hammers, a large heavy one, and another of lesser weight but hefty utility.

He took off all his clothes, and then picked up a revolver which had been resting, unseen by Sidney, on a small commode.

He pointed the gun at Sid and they walked over to the great barn, newly painted and shining bright, and Roy pulled open the largest of the barn doors.

“This is the door you are to nail me to, do you see?”

Sidney nodded. Roy did not know whether to be relieved or angered by such calm compliance.

But then after this wooden docility, Sidney kneeled down in front of the renderer, saying, “Release me, or kill me. I can’t, I can’t go through with it.”

“The only way you can release yourself is to nail me fast to the barn door. Now I will give you some dope to drink if you want it, but I got to be nailed there, and you got to bring Brian to see me in the morning. Otherwise, you won’t never be free of me. . . . Is that clear now?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Sidney kept muttering.

“Well, stand up, then, for if you don’t do it I am going to shoot you. Understand?

“All right. Now I want you to bathe my right wrist and arm and my right foot and thigh with this alcohol I brought along.” Roy took out the stopper from a large bottle, and Sidney listlessly rubbed these portions of his body with the solution.

Then Roy pointed to the nails lying all ready in a row on some white cloth beside the two hammers.

“Now you nail me to the door just like you was as smart as the next fellow, get it? You owe it to both of us, Sidney. Nail the son of the renderer to the barn door. You know you want to. A slap was not enough that night of the Graduation Exercises.”

Suddenly a great cry came out of Sidney’s chest which made even the scissors-­grinder wince a bit. Sid had the nails in the palm of his left hand, and then after a long wait of pure silence he raised the heavier of the two hammers.

The first nail went through Roy’s wrist with more ease than he had thought possible.

The renderer went pale, especially in the mouth, but no sound escaped from him. The blood perhaps spoke for him as it jetted about everywhere staining Sidney’s shirt and hands, spurting even on his hair.