‘Yes, dad.’
I started to walk up and down—I always did this when I was extra worried.
I was frightened now about Jim, though I tried to hide the fact from myself. Presently he called me again.
‘What is it, Jim?’
‘Take the blankets off me, fahver—Jim’s sick!’ (They’d been teaching him to say father.)
I was scared now. I remembered a neighbour of ours had a little girl die (she swallowed a pin), and when she was going she said—
‘Take the blankets off me, muvver—I’m dying.’
And I couldn’t get that out of my head.
I threw back a fold of the ‘possum rug, and felt Jim’s head—he seemed cool enough.
‘Where do you feel bad, sonny?’