"Everything."
"H—m. You're the devil of a martinet."
"Will you?"
It was the supreme test of what remained of my influence over him. His head ached, I'm sure, for he looked a wreck. I watched his face anxiously. He went to the table, took a cigarette from the box and lighted it deliberately. Then turning, faced me with a smile, and offered his hand.
"Yes," he said. "Old Dry-as-dust, I will."
"A promise? You've never broken one, Jerry."
"A promise, Roger. I—I think I'm getting a little glimmering of sense. A promise. I'll keep it."
"Thank God, for that," I said, in so fervent a tone that the boy smiled at me.
"Good old Roger! You're a brick," he said. "Friendship, after all, is the greatest thing in the world." He turned his head and walked to the window and looked out, assuming an air of unconcern which I knew hid some deep-seated emotion. I, too, was silent. It was a fine moment for us both.
He turned into the room after awhile with an air of gayety.