“I’m going to try,” Norah said.
“It’s hard on Dad,” said Jim. “He’s getting old, and sometimes I think he isn’t as strong as he was. I’ll be worried about him all the time I’m away: but I’d be much more worried if you hadn’t come. It’s a tremendous weight off my mind that I’m leaving you to look after him.”
Norah flushed with pleasure.
“Is it, Jim? I’m so glad.”
“Why, you’re almost everything to him,” Jim said. “I’m not going to think of morbid things, because the chances are that Wally and I will come back: but if I don’t, I know Dad won’t have lost the best thing he has.”
“Please, Jimmy,” said Norah, very low.
“I won’t, old chap,” said Jim. “Just don’t worry, and try not to let Dad worry: and both of you get busy. There are heaps of relief jobs for people who really want to work. And afterwards you’ll be satisfied because you really did your bit in the war. If every one did just their little bit the whole job would be done in no time. It’s the slackers that keep it going—and you never were a slacker, Nor. You’ve always done your share.”
“Mine is such a tiny little share,” Norah said. “It hardly seems to count.”
“Don’t you believe it!” Jim answered. “We can’t all do a big thing, like Kitchener and Jellicoe; and lots of men never get a chance for distinction—they say half the V.C’s and D.S.O’s are pure luck. But every one has got some sort of a little row to hoe, and everyone’s row counts. Your job is partly to look after Dad, and I believe you’ll do it best by getting busy—both of you. Dad will go to pieces if he’s idle, and worrying about Wally and me.”
“I won’t let him,” said Norah, nodding. “I promise, Jim. We’ll work.”