“Yes, Father,” said Westy, with tears brimming in his large eyes as he knelt once more by his father’s side.
“My boy, you’re a real he-man, do you know that?” he said, raising his hand from under the coverlet and placing it on Westy’s bowed head. “I’m no end proud of you, lad!”
“M-mm,” was all Westy could say.
“After what I witnessed to-day—is it still to-day?” he asked, turning his head toward the window where the shades were now drawn.
His wife nodded.
“After what I witnessed to-day,” he continued, sheer gratitude inflecting his voice, “I’m quite sure that there isn’t a boy alive who is any better able to take care of himself than our boy. Isn’t that right, Mother?”
Mrs. Martin smiled her assent.
“And so,” he went on, “the only way I can repay this modern hero of ours is to grant him the wish of his heart’s desire.”
“I don’t wish to be repaid, Father. It was no more than I should have done,” Westy said, vainly trying to conceal his embarrassment.
“Oh, no, son, that wasn’t any mere duty you performed on my behalf and also the others; it was true courage, the stuff that one rarely sees displayed so splendidly. I wouldn’t have believed it was in you really!”