“I’d be afraid of the future without you; it would be so bleak and lonesome,” said he simply. He gave her good night before her tent.
“And for that reason,” said he, carrying on his thought of a minute before, “we must weather the crisis like good sailormen.”
CHAPTER XXI
THE CRISIS
Brave words are one thing, and inflammation in a gunshot wound is another. Infection set up in Jerry Boyle’s hurt on the day after that which the doctor had marked as the critical point in his battle for life.
Dr. Slavens was of the opinion that the bullet had carried a piece of clothing into the wound, which it was not able to discharge of itself. An operation for its removal was the one hope of saving the patient, and that measure for relief was attended by so many perils as to make it very desperate indeed.
The doctor viewed this alarming turn in his patient with deep concern, not so much out of sympathy for the sufferer and his parents, perhaps, as on his personal account. The welfare of Jerry Boyle had become the most important thing in life to him, for his own future hinged on that as its most vital bearing.
Agnes was firm in her adherence to the plan of procedure which she had announced. She declared that, as matters stood, she would not become a burden, with all her encumbrances, upon his slender resources. If mischance wrested the promised fee out of his hands, then they must go their ways separately. She repeated her determination to abide by that on the morning when Dr. 344 Slavens announced the necessity of the operation.
Slavens was hurt and disappointed. It seemed that his faith in her suffered a blighting frost.
“In plain words,” he charged, “you will refuse to marry me because I am poor.”