“Perhaps you mean that you don’t want me to say anything about it, and that it will look as if you had turned against your uncle. I don’t think I need to speak of you. I saw him with my own eyes, though I don’t know what he was up to there in the store.”
“I don’t,” whispered Chauncy.
“It is a satisfaction to have you confirm my opinion, and as for yourself anything between us is all settled.”
“Thank you.”
“There, I have bothered you too long. I didn’t mean to stay here all this while.”
“I kept you, I kept you. Don’t go. It’s fearful lonesome here, save when Green comes up; and then she may look at me and say I make her think of her brother who died, and cries—well, that don’t help a feller; and I stay here and think, you know. Say, Plympton!” Chauncy’s eyes shone out bright and sharp. “Say, I don’t want to die!”
“Oh, I don’t believe you will. I am thinking of this: soon as I get off from the station,—and my time is up in a few days,—how would you like to have me be your nurse? I could sit with you, you know, and I am strong and could lift you easily when you wanted to change about.”
Strong? The very sight of the young surfman so muscular and healthy was an elixir to Chauncy. He seemed to take strength from Walter at once, and certainly his own stock needed reinforcement, for he was very feeble.
Walter pitied him; “Poor fellow!” he said, and Walter laid his hand on Chauncy’s forehead and gently stroked it. “I’m sorry for you, and I’ll help you.”
The tears came in Chauncy’s eyes.