“Got a heart of pure gold, old Waite. Why, I've seen him cry like a baby over one of his men that got hurt.”
“Have you known him, then, for a long while?”
“Ever since the Spring of '61. I was brigaded with him all through the war, and had to cut a bullet or so out of his hide before it ended. If there was ever a fight, Willis Waite was sure to get his share. He could swear some then, but he's improved since, and I reckon now he could likely claim the championship.”
“Did—did you know my mother also?” and Christie leaned forward, her eyes suddenly grown misty. “I haven't even the slightest memory of her.”
The doctor's heart was tender, and he was swift to respond, reaching forth and grasping the hand nearest him. He had made love before, yet somehow this was different; he felt half afraid of this woman, and it was a new sensation altogether, and not unpleasant.
“I saw her often enough in those days, but not since. She was frequently in camp, a very sweet-faced woman; you have her eyes and hair, as I remember. Waite ought to have recognized you at first sight. By Heavens! that was what made me so internally mad, the mulish obstinacy of the old fool. Your mother used to come to the hospital tent, too; one of the best nurses I ever saw. I thought she was a beauty then, but she's some older by this time,” he paused regretfully. “You see, I'm no spring chicken, myself.”
Her eyes were upon his face, a slight flush showing in either cheek, and she made no effort to withdraw her imprisoned hand.
“You are just a nice age,” with firm conviction. “Boys are tiresome, and I think a little gray in the hair is an improvement. Oh, you mustn't imagine I say this just to please you—I have always thought so, since—well, since I grew up. Besides, fleshy men generally look young, because they are so good natured, perhaps. How old are you, Doctor?”
“It isn't the gray hairs I mind, either,” he admitted hesitatingly, “but I'm too darned bald-headed. Oh, I ain't so old, for I was only thirty-five when the war broke out. I was so thin then I could hardly cast a shadow. I've changed some since,” casting his eyes admiringly downward, “and got quite a figure. I was forty-three last month.”
“That isn't old; that's just right.”