"But I might have been kinder," said Jasper, compressing his lips; "forget that, Pick."
"Don't say any more," said Pickering, his face flushing, "and I know it's all up with me, any way, Jasper." And he turned pale again. "We pulled an old fellow out of the wreck, at least Ben did the most of it—Polly wanted us to; and who do you suppose he is? Why, Jack Loughead's uncle. Of course he'll be here soon, and it's easy to see the end."
At that, Pickering bolted up in bed to a sitting position, and clutched at the collar of his morning jacket with savage fingers.
"Don't, Pick," begged Jasper, in an unsteady voice.
"I'm going to get up," declared Pickering deliberately. "Clear out,
Jasper," with a forbidding gesture, "or I'll pitch into you."
"You'll lie down," said Jasper decidedly; "there, get in again," with a gentle push on Pickering's long legs. "Aren't you ashamed of yourself, though, to act like this!" trying to speak playfully.
Pickering scrambled back into bed, fuming every instant. "To lie like a log here, while that fellow dashes around carrying everything before him—it's—it's—abominable and atrocious! Let me out, I say!" And he dashed toward the edge of the bed, nearly knocking Jasper over.
"Hold on, there," cried Jasper, pinning down the clothes with a firm hand, "don't you see"—while Pickering struggled to toss them back "Take care, you'll tear this quilt!—that I'll help you on to your feet all in good time? And if you behave yourself, you'll be around, and a match for any Jack Loughead under the heavens. There, now, will you be still?"
"Send that dunce of a doctor to me as soon as you can," said Pickering, rolling back suddenly once more, into the hollow made in the center of the four-poster. "Dear me, he's sweet on Polly too!" he groaned under the clothes.
"Whew!" exclaimed Jasper, pulling out his handkerchief to wipe his forehead. "I won't agree to hold you in bed again, Pick. I'll send the doctor," he added, going out, "but you see that you don't lose your head while I'm gone."