“I didn’t mean to let you go, Lovey,” I groaned, humbly.
“Of course you didn’t! ’Ow ’uld ye get along without me, I’d like to know? Didn’t I keep ye straight all them weeks at the Down and Out?”
“You did, Lovey.”
“And ’aven’t I saved ye lots o’ times since?”
“You have, old man.”
“I wouldn’t leave ye, not for nothink, Slim. We’re buddies as long as we live, ain’t we? Didn’t ye say that to me yerself?”
“I did, and I’ll say it again.”
“Well then, what’s the use o’ talkin’? You mustn’t mind me, sonny. I may get into a bad temper and speak ’arsh to you; but I don’t mean nothink by it. I wouldn’t leave ye, not for—”
The voice trailed away, and presently he was asleep or unconscious again, I couldn’t be sure which.
Neither could I be sure whether he believed this version of the tale or whether he concocted it to comfort me. At any rate, it served its purpose in that it eased the situation outwardly, enabling Cantyre and me to face each other without too much self-consciousness.