But Jason did not go; and there was something more in the act than that of a well-trained servant as the old man stooped, picked up the newspaper from the floor, and folded it neatly. He laid the paper hesitantly on the table, and began to fumble awkwardly with the silver tray.
“What is it, Jason?” prompted Jimmie Dale.
“Well, Master Jim, sir,” said Jason, and the old face grew suddenly strained, “there is something that, begging your pardon for the liberty, sir, I would like to say. I don’t know what all these strange letters are about, and it’s not for me, sir, it’s not my place, to ask. But once, Master Jim, you honoured me with your confidence to the extent of saying they meant life and death; and once, sir, the night this house was watched, I could see for myself that you were in some great danger. I—Master Jim, sir—I—I am an old man now, sir, but I dandled you on my knee when you were only a wee tot, sir, and—and you’ll forgive me, sir, if I presume beyond my station, only—only—” His voice broke suddenly; his eyes were full of tears.
Jimmie Dale’s hand went out, both of them, and were laid affectionately on the old man’s shoulders.
“I put my life in your hands that night, Jason,” he said simply. “Go on. What is it?”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, Master Jim, sir.” Jason swallowed hard; his voice choked a little. “It isn’t much, sir, I—I don’t know that it’s anything at all; but nights, sir, when I’m sitting up for you, Master Jim, and you don’t come home, I—”
“But I’ve told you again and again that you are not to sit up for me, Jason,” Jimmie Dale remonstrated kindly.
“Yes, I know, sir.” Jason shook his head. “But I couldn’t sleep, sir, anyway—thinking about it, Master Jim, sir. I—well, sir—sometimes I get terribly anxious and afraid, Master Jim, that something will happen to you, and it seems as though you were all alone in this, and I thought, sir, that perhaps if—if some one—some one you could trust, Master Jim, could do something—anything, sir, it might make it all right. I—I’m an old man, Master Jim, it—it wouldn’t matter about me, and—”
Jimmie Dale turned abruptly to the table. His own eyes were wet. These were not idle words that Jason used, or words spoken without a full realisation of their meaning. Jason was offering, and calling it presumption to do so, his life in place of his, Jimmie Dale’s, if by so doing he could shield the master whom he loved.
“Thank you, Jason.” Jimmie Dale turned again from the table. “There is nothing you can do now, but if the time ever comes—” He looked for a long minute into Jason’s face; then his hands were laid again on the other’s shoulders, and he swung the old man gently around. “There’s the door, Jason—and God bless you!”