“You—you’ve been—nursing me?”
“I’ve been here, but it hasn’t been much of nursing,” cried Dyke, laughing in a half-choking way, as his breast swelled with joy. “I’ve fed you with a spoon and washed your face. Oh Joe, old man, you’ve been just like a big, stupid old baby.”
“And have I been ill long?”
“Yes, ever so long. I was a terrible while before I got back, because the little river out yonder was flooded, and when I did come, I—I—I—oh Joe, old chap, I do feel so happy once more.”
It was a wise addition to his speech, for Dyke never looked much more miserable in his life; but there was enough in his aspect to make Emson smile faintly, and then close his eyes.
That brought back Dyke to the responsibilities of his position, and he sprang up.
“Here! I’ve been letting you talk too much while you’re so weak,” he cried excitedly.
Emson’s lips parted to speak, but his brother laid a hand upon them.
“No,” he said, “you mustn’t: you’ll have to get stronger first; and I’ve got to feed you up, old chap.”
Just at that moment a dark shadow crossed the doorway, and Tanta Sal’s black face appeared looking in.