I made no answer.
“Ah, Dannie, isn’t you?”
Still I would not heed him.
“I wisht you was,” he sighed, “for I’m wonderful lonely the night, lad, an’ wantin’ t’ talk a spell.”
’Twas like a child’s beseeching. I was awake at once––wide awake for him: moved by the wistfulness of this appeal to some perception of his need.
“An’ is you comfortable, Dannie, lyin’ there in your own little bed?”
“Ay, sir.”
“An’ happy?”
“Grand, sir!” said I.