The young man coughed long and loud.
“All right,” he said hastily. “Well, let’s see what we can do. Could you get on my back, and then I can carry you home? Give me your parcels. That’s right. No, Miss Brown. I insist on carrying the parcels. I couldn’t dream of allowing you—well, if you’re sure you’d rather. Leave me the big ones, anyway. Now, William, are we ready?”
“I CAN’T WALK ANY MORE, ETHEL,” HE SAID, TURNING HIS HEALTHY COUNTENANCE UP TO HER. “I’M TOOK ILL SUDDEN!”
William clung on behind, nothing loth, and they set off rather slowly down the road. Ethel was overcome with gratitude.
“It is kind of you, Mr. French. I don’t know what we should have done without you. I do hope he’s not fearfully heavy, and I do hope he’s not beginning anything infectious. Do let me take the other parcels. Won’t you, really? Mother will be grateful to you. It’s such a strange thing, isn’t it? I’ve never heard of such a thing before. I’ve always thought William was so strong. I hope it’s not consumption or anything like that. How does consumption begin?”
Mr. French had had no conception of the average weight of a sturdy small boy of eleven. He stumbled along unsteadily.
“Oh, no,” he panted. “Don’t mention it—don’t mention it. It’s a pleasure—really it is. No, indeed you mustn’t take the parcels. You have quite enough already. Quite enough. No, he isn’t a bit heavy. Not a bit. I’m so glad I happened to come by at a moment that I could do you a service. So glad!” He paused to mop his brow. He was breathing very heavily. There was a violent and quite unreasonable hatred of William at his heart.
“Don’t you think you could walk now—just a bit, William?” he said, with a touch of exasperation in his panting voice. “I’ll help you walk.”
“All right,” William acceded readily. “I don’t mind. I’ll lean on you hard, shall I?”