“Walk! I say! Yes, walk! Put your arm here, across my shoulder, so. You can walk as well as a week-old baby. You’ve lost blood enough to kill a man.” So Larry carried him in spite of himself, and laid him in his bunk. There he stood, panting, and looking down on him. “You’re heavier by a few pounds than when I toted you down that trail last fall.”
“This is all foolishness. I could have made it myself––on foot,” said Harry, ungratefully, but he smiled up in the older man’s face a compensating smile.
“Oh, yes. You can lie there and grin now. And you’ll continue to lie there until I let you up. It’s no more lessons with Amalia and no more violin and poetry for you, for one while, young man.”
“Thank God. It will help me over the time until the trail is open.” Larry stood staring foolishly on the drawn face and quivering, sensitive lips.
“You’re hungry, that’s what you are,” he said conclusively.
“Guess I am. I’m wretchedly sorry to make you all this trouble, but––she mustn’t come in here––you’ll bring me a bite to eat––yes, I’m hungry. That’s what ails me.” He drew a grimy hand across his eyes and felt the bandage. “Why––you’ve done me up! I must have had quite a cut.”
“I’ll wash your face and get your coat off, and your boots, and make you fit to look at, and then––”
“I don’t want to see her––or her mother––either. I’m just––I’m a bit faint––I’ll eat if––you’ll fetch me a bite.”
Quickly Larry removed his outer clothing and mended the fire and then left him carefully wrapped in blankets 324 and settled in his bunk. When he returned, he found him light-headed and moaning and talking incoherently. Only a few words could he understand, and these remained in his memory.
“When I’m dead––when I’m dead, I say.” And then, “Not yet. I can’t tell him yet.––I can’t tell him the truth. It’s too cruel.” And again the refrain: “When I’m dead––when I’m dead.” But when Larry bent over him and spoke, Harry looked sanely in his eyes and smiled again.