“Well,” said Johnny, presently, “we’re ’most there. Are you going to say anything?”
“I wouldn’t, if it was for myself—not if you hung on to me for a week!” and Jim’s face worked; Johnny even thought his voice trembled a little.
“Taffy’s sick,” continued Jim, “and I can’t find out what ails him. He says he don’t hurt anywhere, but he won’t eat, and as far as I can make out he don’t sleep much, and he feels as if he was red hot. And all he cares for is when I am with him evenings, and read to him. That old Turkess where I have the room sort of looks after him; she knows I’ll look after her if she doesn’t! But it must be lonesome for the little chap all day, and yet I daresn’t lose any more time with him than I do now, or I wouldn’t have the money—I mean—oh, I can’t leave my business for anybody! And I thought, maybe, you’d give him an hour two or three times a week, Johnny; so I set a fellow to mind my stand, and if you can come, and your mother doesn’t mind, I’ll show you the way.”
Johnny was silent a moment. How the sun shone, and how the pond sparkled and glittered! Three or four of the boys, at a distant street corner, beckoned frantically to him with their skates, to hurry him.
Perhaps you think Johnny must have been very selfish, to hesitate even for a moment, but then, you know, you are looking at him, and not at yourself! Before Jim’s sensitive pride had time to take fire again, the answer was ready.
“I’ll do it, Jim,” said Johnny, cordially, “if you’ll wait half a second till I ask mamma—she always likes to know where I am.”
“Thank you,” said Jim, briefly, and then, with a sudden thought, he asked,—
“Have you had your dinner yet?”
“Why no! I forgot all about it!” and Johnny suddenly realized that he was alarmingly hungry.