“Stupid, my boy! none of us ever thought you that. It is not the stupid boys that get head removes as you have done the last term or two. I should very much enjoy a talk with you, Daubeny, but I mustn’t stay now the doctor says, so I’ll leave these two fellows with you, and give them ten minutes—no longer—to tell you all the school news.”
“In future wiser—in future,” repeated Daubeny in a low voice to himself once or twice; “ah, yes, too late now. I don’t think he knows how ill I am, Walter. My mother’s been sent for; I expect her this evening. I shall at least live to see her again.”
“O, don’t,” said Henderson, whose quick and sensitive nature was easily excited; “don’t talk like that, Daubeny; we can’t spare you; you must stay for our sake.”
“Dear old fellow,” said Daubeny, “you’ll have nobody left to chaff; but you can spare me easily enough,” and he laid his fevered hand kindly on Henderson’s, who immediately turned his head and brushed away a tear. “O, don’t cry,” he added, in a pained tone of voice, “I never meant to make you cry. I’m quite happy, Flip.”
“O Daubeny! we can’t get on without you!” said Henderson.
“Daubeny! I hardly know the name,” said the sick boy, smiling. “No, Flip, let it be Dubbs, as of old—a nice heavy name to suit its owner; and you gave it me, you know, so it’s your property, Flip, and I hardly know myself by any other now.”
“O Dubbs, I’ve plagued you so,” said Henderson, sobbing as if his heart would break; “I’ve never done anything but teaze you, and laugh at you, and you’ve always been so good and so patient to me. Do forgive me.”
“Pooh!” said Daubeny, trying to rally him. “Listen to him, Walter; who’d think that Flip was talking? Teased me, Flip?” he continued, as Henderson still sobbed at intervals, “not you! I always enjoyed your chaff, and I knew that you liked me at heart. You’ve all been very kind to me. Walter, I’m so glad I got to know you before I—. It’s so pleasant to see you here. Give me your hand; no, Flip, let me keep yours too; it’s getting dark. I like to have you here. I feel so happy. I wish Power and Ken would come too, that I might see all my friends.”
“Good-night, Daubeny; I can’t stay, I mustn’t stay,” said Henderson; and, pressing his friend’s hand, he hurried out of the room to indulge in a burst of grief which he could not contain; for, under his trifling and nonsensical manner, Henderson had a very warm and susceptible and feeling heart, and though he had always made Daubeny a subject of ridicule, he never did it with a particle of ill-nature, and felt for him—dissimilar as their characters were—a most fervent and deep regard.
“Look after him when I am gone, Walter,” said Daubeny sadly, when he had left the room. “He is a dear good fellow, but so easily led. Poor Flip; he’s immensely changed for the better since you came, Walter.”