“Thank God!”
“Yes, I see that it is the best thing for me to do—from the point of view of the people who love me so distractedly. I’ll run away to-morrow—on one condition. You must promise to keep me in touch with your ankle.”
“That is—mean—unworthy of a—man—like you. Making fun. Cheating. I’m not—joking. I want to—save you—and you think—I’m a fool.”
“No, no! I’m the fool. I’m not joking. I’ll go away and save my life if you will promise to let me know about your ankle. How it’s recovering day by day and that sort of thing. That’s not asking a great deal—in return for my eating my pride and permitting you to save my life. Now I am serious. I mean that.”
“Will you give me your word of honor to go to-morrow if I promise to—to put your anxiety at rest about my ankle?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have my promise.”
“Good! Please accept my word of honor that I’ll skip out to-morrow. Now we had better be toddling on our way again. Climb on.”
“But this isn’t fair—making you carry me. No, it isn’t! It is cheating. I have your promise—so I’ll keep my promise now. I—my—there isn’t anything wrong with it.”
“With what? Your promise? Of course not. Mine is all right too.”