"So that's what you really think of me!" observed Rupert. "Go reason with that wildcat of yours if you want to. I'm beginning to believe that you are two of a kind." He turned abruptly down the hall.
Val opened the door of the bedroom. The sunlight was fading fast and already the corners of the large room were filled with the gray of dusk. But light from the windows swept full across the bed and its occupant. Val hobbled stiffly toward it.
"Hello." The brown face on the pillow did not change expression as Val greeted the swamper. "How do you feel now?"
"Bettah," Jeems answered shortly. "Ah'm good but they won't le' me up."
"The Doc says you're in for a couple of days," Val told him.
Somehow Jeems looked smaller, shrunken, as he lay in that oversized bed. And he had lost that air of indolent arrogance which had made him seem so independent in their swamp and garden meetings. It was as if Val were looking down upon a younger and less confident edition of the swamper he had known.
"What does he think?" There was urgency in that question.
"Who's he?"
"Yo' brothah."
"Rupert? Why, he's glad to have you here," Val answered.