“Don’t you dare stay over a second. But a glimpse would mean a lot to her, and she’s a darling to me.”
“Oh, all right,” agreed Dick. “Because she’s a darling to you—” and he swung off.
“Dick—” as he sprang from the gallery. He turned. “Kiss her good-by, Dick.”
“What sort of a mother——!”
“She’ll object, but she’ll like it.”
“You little devil,” Dick chuckled, “can’t you let a fellow handle his own kissing?” And started again, easy, elastic, made of sliding muscles.
“Oh, Dick!” called his mother once more, and once more the brown figure halted. “Now, then, woman?”
“Don’t peck, Dick; kiss her a thorough one.”
Dick’s laughter rang across the little place. The echo of that big laughter in the woman was not a quickened pulse of gladness as it had been all his days; a sick aching answered the beloved sound, and the stab of a thought—would ever Dick laugh across the garden again? With that he was back, grinning.
“I did it,” stated Dick. “It’s not often a chap’s commanding officer sends him out with orders for a kissing attack, so I put my elbows into it and made a good job. She’s kissed to pieces.”