“He ain’t showed no sign, Miss Dianny?” he asked eagerly.
“No, Joe.”
The girl spoke almost in a whisper, leaning against the table with a deep sigh of weariness.
“Say, Miss Dianny,” the little man suggested softly, “that doc. feller said mebbe he’d give him three days. It’s a real long spell. Seems to me you’ll need to be up an’ around come that time.”
“Oh, I shall be ‘up and around,’ Joe.”
The grizzled old head shook doubtfully, and he moved away from his trough, drying his hands, and came over to where she was standing.
“Say, I jest can’t sleep noways. I’m like that, I guess. I git spells. I wus kind o’ thinkin’ mebbe I’d set around like. A good night’s slep ’ud fix you right. I’ve heerd tell as folks kind o’ influences their patiences some. You bein’ tired, an’ sleppy, an’ miser’ble, now mebbe that’s jest wot’s keppin’ him back——”
Diane shook her head. She saw through his round-about subterfuge, and its kindliness touched her.
“No, no, Joe,” she said almost tenderly. “Not on your life. You would give me your last crust if you were starving. You are doing all, and more than any one else would do for me, and I will accept nothing further.”
“You’re figgerin’ wrong,” he retorted quite harshly. “’Tain’t fer you. No, no, it’s fer him. Y’ see we’re kind o’ dependin’ on him, Arizona an’ me——”