Patsy Garvan had a right to say this, for a more fearless young American it would be hard to find in a day’s march. He did not realize, at the moment, that Chick was only “kidding” him.
Chick eased him to the floor and chuckled.
“What are you laughing about, Chick?”
“At you.”
“Why, what have I done that’s funny?” demanded Patsy.
“Getting mad because I told you not to be afraid.”
“Well, how would you like to have anybody hand a thing like that to you? If a strange guy passed me such a crack, I’d push in his face,” grunted the disgusted Patsy.
“I don’t blame you,” laughed Chick. “And I know that is just what you would do. But I was only joking. You ought to have known that. Give me your hand.”
Patsy Garvan laughed softly, and, turning on his electric flash, so that he could see what they were doing, he gave his hand to Chick, and they shook with the heartiness of comrades who knew they always could depend on each other, no matter what happened.