“She come in like an angel o’ mercy an’ went out with a face like Jezebel’s. Guess she was feared she mought ketch the fever,” said one of the prisoners. Captain Enderwood swore at the poor old man, though the captain ever respected age and regarded profanity as the mark of a boor.
That night Rodney Allison slept in a clean bed in a neat room, with a doctor by his side and a nurse none other than Miss Danesford herself, while Captain Lawrence Enderwood, on parole, walked about the city and then took night watch at the side of his sick friend.
CHAPTER XXVIII
NEW VENTURES WITH OLD ACQUAINTANCES
What is more grateful to a weak, weary mortal on a hot morning than a snug seat under the shade of a tree, stirred by a gentle breeze from the river? Rodney Allison could think of nothing, and sank into the seat with a sigh of relief.
This was his first attempt at walking abroad since his illness, during which the British had left Philadelphia and returned to New York, pursued and harassed by the Americans. That morning Captain Enderwood had left him, and, when he had inquired for his bill, he was told that it had been paid. He had been dimly conscious during his illness of the presence of a nurse other than Enderwood, but when he had asked about it the captain had ignored the question and talked about something else. Surely he was indebted to some one for his life and life was very sweet this July morning.
“When d’ye leave yer grave?”
“Hello, Zeb! I was thinking about you, and wondering if we’d ever meet again.”