“Oh yes, and they said there had been a letter from you or about you or something. They came from a place called Marlborough.”
“Well, that’s different!” said the patient with a jerk. “Can’t you straighten this place up a bit? It looks like an awful hole. Is my face clean? It feels all prickly.”
“I’ll wash it,” said the nurse gaily. She was quite gleeful over these interesting looking visitors.
“You can show the minister up,” said the patient “I don’t know the other one.”
“But he’s the one that asked after you. He seems real pleasant. He was quite anxious to see you. The minister called him Murray. Perhaps he’s some relative.”
“I haven’t any!” growled the man, “but you can bring him too, if he’s so anxious to come.”
He glared out from under his bandages at his visitors with anything but a welcoming smile. It was too late for smiling. They should have come weeks ago.
They stood beside his bed and introduced themselves, the nurse hovering in the offing till she should be sure that all was well with her patient.
“My name is Harrison. I’m the preacher from Marlborough you wrote to several months ago. I’ve just found out today where you were, and I’m mighty sorry I couldn’t have been around to help you sooner. I’ll just let this young brother explain, and then we’ll all talk about it some more.”
The minister put a big kind brotherly hand on the weak white hand of Allan Murray, and then dropped back to the other end of the little room, and sat down on the stiff white chair. Murray stepped closer to the bed.