"Now is a good date—rather close to Thanksgiving," he said, in his chuckling Anglo-Saxon way. Then he laid one hand on her arm and said solemnly: "Wrecks oughtn't to get sentimental. I won't! But remember this, Dodo: you're the first breath of real life that's come to me. You've got hold of me—strong! I'm going to win out for you—and I'm going—" He halted as abruptly as he had begun. "Now, that's all till I get straightened out. If I don't, forget it!"
"But you will!" she exclaimed, forgetting all her resolves to enlighten him on the subject of her affections.
"There'll be some bad bumps," he said grimly. "I've got into this night habit pretty deep—insomnia, and then anything to eat up the night. Lampson's got some new system to try out on me. Later, perhaps, I'll beat it for the woods; but just at present, a few weeks, I guess you can do me more good than anything else!"
"Can I?" she said gratefully.
"Yes. Time for lunch now. Are you starved?" he said evasively. "I'll talk over things and ways later."
As they came back, he went into detail about the fight ahead. Much that he said was technical, and she did not comprehend all. Only that his body had been fed too long on the consuming alcohol to be too suddenly deprived.
"Which means," he added, with a smile, "that you mustn't get discouraged if I break over the traces once or twice."
"Send for me!"
"Perhaps," he said doubtfully. "If I do, you need never be afraid, Dodo, no matter how much others are. I would always do what you ask!"
"I could never be afraid of you!" she answered truthfully.