“Not just now, Lovey. Later, perhaps. First of all we’re going for a month into the woods north of the Ottawa.”
His jaw dropped. “Into the woods?”
“Yes, old sport. You’ll like it.”
“Oh no, I won’t, Slim. I never was in no woods in my life—except London and New York. There’s one thing I never could abide, and that’s trees.”
“You won’t say that when you’ve seen real trees. We’ll shoot and fish and camp out—”
“Camp out? In a tent, like? Oh, I couldn’t, sonny! I’d ketch me death!”
“Then if you do we’ll come back; only, we’ve got to go now.”
“Why have we? It’s awful nice here in New York; and I don’t pay no attention to people that says it’s too hot.”
I made the appeal which I knew he would not resist. Laying my hand on his shoulder, I said: “Because, old man, I’m—I’m in trouble. I want to get away where—where I sha’n’t see—some one—again—and I need you.”
“It ain’t that girl, Slim? She—she haven’t turned you down?”