We have not had to do it yet; and it was best to save it for
country places and villages. But you could have done it if you
were obliged to. The Game would have to go on.''
The Rat caught at his thin chest as if he had been struck
breathless.
``Without you?'' he gasped. ``Without you?''
``Yes,'' said Marco. ``And we must think of it, and plan in case
anything like that should happen.''
He stopped himself quite suddenly, and sat down, looking straight
before him, as if at some far away thing he saw.
``Nothing will happen,'' he said. ``Nothing can.''
``What are you thinking of?'' The Rat gulped, because his breath
had not quite come back. ``Why will nothing happen?''
``Because--'' the boy spoke in an almost matter-of-fact tone--in
quite an unexalted tone at all events, ``you see I can always
make a strong call, as I did tonight.''
``Did you shout?'' The Rat asked. ``I didn't know you shouted.''
``I didn't. I said nothing aloud. But I--the myself that is in
me,'' Marco touched himself on the breast, ``called out, `Help!
Help!' with all its strength. And help came.''
The Rat regarded him dubiously.
``What did it call to?'' he asked.
``To the Power--to the Strength-place--to the Thought that does
things. The Buddhist hermit, who told my father about it, called
it `The Thought that thought the World.' ''
A reluctant suspicion betrayed itself in The Rat's eyes.
``Do you mean you prayed?'' he inquired, with a slight touch of
disfavor.
Marco's eyes remained fixed upon him in vague thoughtfulness for
a moment or so of pause.
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