In the meanwhile, however, it was necessary to move Pete’s partner to Hermitage Rest for surgical care if the man was to stand any chance of life at all.
“Your young friend, Ed, here, has offered to supply you with some of his blood if necessary,” said the doctor. The sick man’s eyes, small and evil though they were, filled with tears.
“Listen,” he said, “I know I ain’t gointer live and I don’t care. I ain’t got one thing in dis world to live for nohow, but I want to say before I go dat only two people in dis world ever treated me white. One was my old mother, dead and gone now, peace to her soul, and de other is dis kid. Kid, I hear you got de same name as mine and I’d like to give you something to remember me by, and every time you look at it you remember to steer clear of de line I got into. Here’s me watch me mother give me when I was twenty-one. You keep it and remember me. Look inside de lid and see wat it says there and then think wat a mess I made of all she wished for me.”
Ed reverently opened the lid. Carved on the inside of the old-fashioned silver case were these words:
“TO EDDIE
FROM MOTHER
Hoping He Will Always Be a Good Man!”
There was considerable clearing of manly throats as Ed Carlyle, reading this, touched the hearts of all those grouped about the sad figure on the ground.
“Come, come,” broke in the doctor cheerfully. “You aren’t ready for your funeral yet by any means, my man. I can patch you up as well as ever and unless I miss my guess you have many years ahead in which you can make up for lost time in leading a useful life with this young scout as your mascot, eh, Eddie?”
“Sure you will,” said Buck. “You can stay at my place until you’re well and then I’ll give you a job. You ain’t the first tough character I’ve seen come to his senses and make good. Let’s get a move on now, and mosey on down to a good bed and good grub.”