He nodded. “Yes, I know—organic, almost But there are other roads. He could build up another. He ’s a young man still—young in years. Let him recover and he will be as eager to fight as ever.”
“It is n’t quite that, sir.” The slow mind groped for prosaic words in which to clothe Simeon’s radiant dream. “He’s not fighting just for the love of it. He thinks the country has been injured—the road has made money out of it without paying back—and he wants to make good. If the road goes to pieces—if the C. B. and L. buys it up—he could never do it. I think it would kill him.”
The physician’s head was bent in thought. “So Sim Tetlow loves men—like that—as much as that!” He looked up candidly. “Do you know I should have said that there was nobody in the world he would turn his hand over for. And now you tell me he’s been killing himself for farmers.”
The young man’s face flushed a little. “I don’t think it’s farmers, sir—nor—nor—anybody. It’s just the country!”
The physician looked at him a minute—“I see—it ’s impersonal.”
“Yes, sir. But the country is like a person to him. I think he loves it. And I know he wants to make up for the harm he’s done it. It would kill him to give up—now.... Two weeks will do it.”
“Well—Well. You take the risk, you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” The clear eyes met his.
The physician’s looked into them with quiet scrutiny. “You ’re very fond of him,” he said.
“I love him, sir,” said the young man.