“In a livery stable.”
“In a livery stable!” she repeated. “Dying in such a place!” Dying seemed not so sweet a word now.
“But why didn’t he send word home before? Think of Aunt Libby, Wully!”
“He came in on the train last night.”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, enlightened. “He wanted to get home alive!”
“What’s the matter of him?” she asked again.
“Hemorrhage,” said Wully, as shortly as it was possible to speak. He wouldn’t tell her how he had seen that snake lying bloody, dirty, sunken helpless on a bed of straw. He urged his horses on.
She looked at him. He turned away from her troubled eyes.
After a while;
“Look here, Wully!” she faltered.