Nevertheless, his
face now was overcast and rarely did it vanish behind the spreading
limits of his smile.
For four days, Weldon lay prostrate and babbled of all things, past,
present and to come. Three names dotted his babblings. One was that
of his mother, one of his captain, and the third that of Ethel Dent.
With all three of them, he appeared to be upon the best of terms.
Finally, on the fifth day, he suddenly waked to the fact that a
woman was bending above him, to wipe his face with a damp sponge.
He was too weak to rise. Nevertheless, he straightened himself into
a rigid line, and addressed her with dignity.
"I beg your pardon. Please don't wash my face for me," he said, in
grave displeasure.
She smiled down at him, with the air of a mother smiling at a
fretful child. The smile irritated him.
"Doesn't it refresh you?" she asked quietly.
"No," he answered, with flat, ungracious, mendacity.
"I am sorry. You have been sleeping heavily, and--"
He felt his mind slipping out of his own grasp, and he strove to
hold it in his keeping.
"No matter now," he interrupted hastily. "Please get me--"
She waited in silence. Then she asked encouragingly,--
"What shall I get you?"
The mind was almost gone; but still he held fast to the edge of it,
as he murmured,--
"Some bully beef.
Pages:
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125