Gone! Could he agree to this separation? The word frightened him. "Gone! Oh, my God, no!" He could not.
Then Petrie appealed to Jim's conscience. "You know the trite old saying, 'England expects that every man this day shall do his duty.'" So simply, so seriously did Petrie quote the well-worn phrase, that its shaft went home.
Duty! Duty! Ah, one might squander control of one's own destiny, but for another, for the child whom the parent has brought into life—how answer that? It was the duty of the parent to the child—in that lay the whole definition of the word. He held the tiny face in his hands as he whispered: "Well, Hal, old chap, it's a tough proposition they've put up to your daddy, son. But what must be must be. You'll be braver than I am, I hope." He forgot that the child could not understand him. Sobs shook him as he held the boy tight against his breast. Hal sought to comfort his father with soft, loving pats.
Jim raised his head. "Petrie, you've nailed me to the cross. He goes back with you."
"You'll never regret this," and Petrie laid his hand on Jim's shoulder.
"Ask them to teach him that I did this for his sake; but he'll forget me—you'll see. Some one else will take my place, and he will learn to love them better than he loves me."
Petrie tried to comfort him. "No, he shall hold you in his memory always—always."
Suddenly Jim remembered. "What about his mother?"
"If you can make the sacrifice, she must. They say Indians are stoics."
"I can understand the reason for it, Petrie, man. It will seem a needless cruelty to her. She's almost as much of a child as Hal. I'll try—I'll try."