“I?” Farnsworth looked amazed. “No, Patty; I am what they call a self-made man. My people are plain people, and my childhood was one of rough experiences,—even hardships.”
“All the more credit to you, Little Billee, for turning out a polished gentleman.”
“But I’m not, dear. I’ve picked up enough of social customs not to make awkward mistakes, but I have not the innate breeding of the Van Reypens.”
Farnsworth was not looking at Patty, he was staring into vacancy, and looked as if he were talking more to himself than to her.
“Rubbish!” said Patty, gaily, annoyed at herself for feeling the truth of his words. “You’re a splendid old Bill, and whoever says a word against you is no friend of mine! So be careful, sir, what you say against yourself.”
“You’re a loyal little friend, Patty, and I’m more glad than you can realise to know that it is so. Now, you’re going to do all you can to grow stronger, aren’t you? It hurts me to see you so white and wan-looking. I wish I could give you some of my big strength,—I’ve more than I know what to do with.”
At this speech Patty blushed a rosy crimson, and Farnsworth’s remark about her wan looks lost its point.
“Why the apple blossoms in your cheeks, Little Girl?” and he smiled at her evident confusion.
“Would you give me of your strength, Bill,—if—if I were—were—dying——”
“Wouldn’t I! I’d snatch you back from old Charon, if you had one foot in his boat!”