“Don’t, Jerry,” she pleaded. “Let me hold you tight, so you can’t die.”
“Just a drop, for God’s sake, Mariar!” said Tappelmine imploringly.
“O Jerry!” replied the wife, “don’t—for the children’s sake; they’re more to you than God is. I hope he’ll forgive me for sayin’ it.”
“Only a single mouthful, Mariar,” said Tappelmine, “to keep me from sinkin’.”
“You’re not sinkin’, old man—Jerry, dear; you’re gittin’ up. Keep up, Jerry.”
“I’ll be all right in a day or two, Mariar, if I only get a taste. You don’t want a sick man a-layin’ around, not fit to do for his young ones?”
“You don’t need to, Jerry. I’ll do for ’em, if you’ll only—only make ’em proud of you.”
“It’ll make me good for more to you, old woman—one single mouthful will,” said Tappelmine.
“You’ve been better to me these three weeks than you ever was before, Jerry; keep on bein’ so, won’t you? It puts me in mind of old times—times when you used to laugh, an’ kiss me.”
“I’d be that way again,” said Tappelmine, “if I could only pick up stren’th.”