“Not like Reddy Magraw,” said Jack, the tears streaming down his face. “Not like Reddy Magraw. Do you know what he did—he saw that varmint fumblin’ at his pocket, an’ he must have guessed what was comin’—I was lookin’, too, but I never thought of nothin’ like that—an’ Reddy jumped fer him an’ grabbed him—an’ jest then the bomb went off—”
“He’s dead, ain’t he, Jack?” asked Mary.
“Yes,” said Jack, with a hoarse sob, “an’ so’s Reddy Magraw—an’ if our boy lives, it’ll be because of Reddy, not because o’ me. That’s what it makes me sick t’ think of!”
“Reddy dead!” gasped Mary, the tears starting to her eyes. “Does—”
“No,” said Jack. “You’ll have t’ tell her. I couldn’t to save my soul.”
“I’ll tell her,” said Mary, quietly. “She’ll be proud when she knows.”
And then the door opened and they saw the doctor standing on the threshold.
“Come in,” he said softly. “You can see him now; and it’s all right.”
“You mean he ain’t dead?” asked Jack.
“No, nor going to die. Is this Mamie?” he added, turning to the young woman.