'And you go—for where, Hawkey?' asked his sister, not surprised that he should suddenly remember an engagement.
'To the western meeting—they make such a fuss over this accident, and you know I hate fuss. Besides, I have a pot of money on the Welter Cup, and if I lose——'
'Well?'
'Well—why, the timber of that old King's Wood may come to the hammer—that's all, Deb,' said he, as confidently as if it were his own.
'Now, girls, don't be foolish,' said Roland, in reply to the entreaties of Maude and Hester—the former especially—to be permitted to visit Jack, who was now abed, and in the hands of an accredited nurse.
'Why—may not I see him?' pled Maude.
'Not yet, certainly,' replied Roland, caressing her sunny brown hair, and patting her cheek, from which the faint rose tint was fled.
'I must see him, Roland, that I may know he is not—not—dead.
'Dead, you dear little goose! Such fellows as Jack Elliot take a long time in dying. You should have seen him as I did (though it is well, however, you did not), when doubled up by a grape-shot at Tel-el-Kebir. He'll be all right in a day or two, and meanwhile—
'What, Roland?' asked the trembling girl.