"Sure," I answered slowly; "only tired."
"Well, if it's only tired you are, the best place is bed, an' we'll not send for the doctor," she said; and I made no objection, though usually I hate to go to bed in the day-time.
Not having inherited the good physique of the family, I've spent more days in bed and on the sofa than I'd be willing to count, and I'm not anxious for more. Still I would rather do that now than have the doctor sent for, so without demur I let Phil carry me down to my room, and undress and put me to bed.
What wouldn't I give to be as strong as he is! And he's gentle with it; sometimes he provokes me by the way he watches and takes care of me,—as if I were so fragile I'd go to pieces at a knock,—though in a way I like it, too, and he doesn't mean to rub it in.
He has an idea that I care less for him than he does for me, because I am so unfortunately constituted that I can't express what I feel; but—if he only knew it—life to me wouldn't be worth the living without him and Nannie,—dear old lion-heart! Sometimes I wonder if he will always be as good to me, and care as much; I mean when he gets older, and goes more among people, and they find out what a fine fellow he is, and what jolly company. He declares now that I'm the good company; but I know that my good spirits are more dependent on his than his on mine. In our studies I'm the quicker,—he doesn't love books as I do,—but he is so kindly and brave and bright and merry, that I'd defy anybody not to like him.
But—though he thinks he is awfully sharp—Phil is one of the kind that will be imposed upon; he's so honest and straightforward himself that he thinks everybody else is also, and I'm constantly afraid that some fellow or other that he doesn't see through'll get hold of him and get him into mischief. This was one of the reasons why I was so awfully disappointed at not going to college; Phil and I've been together all our lives, and I hated mortally to have him go off alone and meet people, and make friends there that I would never know. He really needs me—my cooler judgment, I mean—just as much as I ever need his protecting strength. I'm almost sure that she thought so, too, for whenever college was spoken of she would say, "You must go at the same time, Felix, and help him;" and once she added, "help him in everything," and I understood what she meant.
It won't always be so: I think that by and by, when Phil gets to be a man, he'll have more judgment; and now it's only because he's so true himself, and so simple-hearted. I really believe I love him all the better for these traits, though sometimes, when I get provoked, I tell him that he is gullible, and a second Dr. Primrose.
When I found that I couldn't possibly go to college, it was a great relief to know that Murray Unsworth was there, and that they'd be together. Murray's an A 1 fellow! But I must confess that so far Phil hasn't changed at all; he depends on me and seems to like to be with me just as much as ever. And now comes along that snob Chad. I don't like that fellow, and I'll be furious if he gets intimate with Phil. Phil didn't like him at all at first, but I can see—though he won't admit it—that Chad is worming himself into his good graces. He's found out that Phil is first-rate company, and now he is trying to be very friendly.
Max was called out of town on the evening of Nora's birthday, and he didn't get back for some time; but that has not prevented Monsieur le Donkey from coming here again and again. He had the assurance to send his card up to Nora the second time he called,—for her to go down to the drawing-room and entertain him alone! just like his impudence! But of course Miss Marston would not let Nora go, and instead, the pater walked in, and squelched Mr. "Shad." We don't know what father said, but the next time Chad appeared he found the schoolroom good enough for him; and now, as I said, he is trying to be very friendly with Phil.
I don't want him to get intimate with Phil; I dread it, for I have a conviction he's not the sort of fellow that it will do anybody any good to know. From what he has told Nora, it seems that Chad's father was a miner who "struck a bonanza," as he expresses it, and made a great deal of money; then, just as he was ready to enjoy the fortune, he and his wife were killed in a railroad disaster, leaving Chad, who was the only child, to the guardianship of a fellow miner—another "bonanza" man—and Max, whose only acquaintance with Mr. Whitcomb, by the way, had been in successfully conducting a law case for him. The other guardian took the boy all over the United States, and then to Europe, letting him, I fancy, do as he pleased,—study or not as suited his own will,—with the result that Chad is an ignorant, vulgar, conceited cad, with the merest veneering of refinement, who cares for no one but himself, and whose sole standard for everything and every one is that of money. When the other guardian died, of course Max had to assume the charge of Chad,—who'll not be of age for nearly two years,—though I should think he must be a serious trial, for Max is so thoroughly nice himself, so honourable and clever and refined, that this affected, snobbish little Dresden-china-young-man, as Betty calls him, must jar on him in every way, though perhaps Chad is on his best behaviour with his guardian.