“Look here, Nat,” he said, turning over very carefully so that he faced me, “we’re friends, aren’t we?”
I nodded, just as hard as I could, for emphasis. For various reasons, I decided I would not speak just then. I was afraid my voice would behave as Willy Jepson’s used to when he was fourteen. He himself never knew whether it was going to sound like Hamlet, in the soliloquy, or Miss Hooker when she saw a fuzzy caterpillar; and those ranges differ widely.
“Well, if we’re friends,” went on Mr. Kempwood, “whatever bothers you must bother me. I want it to.”
I shook my head. “Oh no!” I said.
He nodded, then stopped (I think it hurt), and said, “Oh yes!” just the way I said “Oh no!” I laughed a little, and then I wiped my eyes. “When I thought you were dead----!” I said.
“Go on,” he ordered. “What happened? Did you mind it, or wonder whether you had enough of your allowance left for a nice wreath? Honestly, confess your thought!” All over again, I choked up. “My dear,” he said suddenly (I think he saw how I felt), “I’m not going to leave life. I love it too much. . . . Especially since we’ve been friends. Why, I’d hang on to it now, with both hands, and I’d like to see anyone make me let it go! Nat, I’m going to stick around, and by the time you’re twenty we’ll be the best friends going. . . . I’ve planned my campaign; you’re helpless.”
I smiled at him and explained how much he had helped me in New York, and how different he had made it all seem. Of course, I told him that my aunt, uncle, and cousins were kind to me (for they are), but I said once in a while I was a little lonely, and when I thought of New York without him I almost fainted. And I explained about how I had felt when I thought he was dead. Especially about the swallowing so much when there was nothing to swallow and no occasion for doing it. And I added that lots of times in the dentist’s chair when I needed to swallow, dreadfully, I couldn’t, and that it was strange how emotions affected you. He listened attentively and agreed with me about the last.
Then he asked if I had been carrying his cane around all day, and I looked and found I had! I was surprised! I must have taken it to the Jumel Mansion, back, and even up to aunt’s. I clung to it without thinking, because I was so upset, I suppose.
“You don’t need it,” he said, with a flicker of hurt going across his face.
“No,” I answered. And I did wish I were tactful, but I never know quite what to say beside the truth, which makes me clumsy.