“That's what I said.”
But Stephen waived this aside.
“Oh, you come, too!” he cried. “It will do you a world of good, it's just the sort of thing you need, Mr. Benson!”
Benson frowned.
“I said I'd go in your place.”
“Well, that's nonsense,” objected the boy.
“Very well, then. There is nothing more to be said. Only this, if you don't do what it is your manifest duty to do, what your sense of gratitude should make you do willingly and gladly, I'm done with you! and this war won't last always. You'll be coming back one of these days, it may be within a month or so, and you won't find me the friend I have tried to be, and am still willing to be, if you will only let me serve you!”
At his words Stephen rose slowly from his chair, and took up his hat from the table. His face was white.
“I may even be able to stand that,” he said in a voice he vainly strove to render firm; then not daring to trust himself further he turned quickly to the door, and hurried from the room.
He was deeply hurt, so hurt that he did not realize where he was going until he found himself striding along the deserted country road in the direction of his home.