She'd get thinking of the accident." George stopped short
and clamped his jaws. "You know, my dad did a wonderful thing," he
continued presently. "Even when he was dying, and mother and I were there
by his bed, he remembered how she'd get thinking alone--all about the
accident. You see he knew mother pretty darned well. So he told her to
remember that he was the one to blame for it. If it hadn't been for him, he
said, they would have gone home in the taxi. That's a pretty good point to
keep in her mind. Don't you think so?" he inquired. And Roger glanced
affectionately into the anxious face by his side.
"Yes," he said, "it's a mighty good point. Did you think of it?"
"Yes, sir," George replied. "I've told it to her a good many times--that
and two other points I thought of."
"What are they, son?" asked Roger.
"First," the boy said awkwardly, "about how good she was to him. And
second, that she let him buy the new car before he died. He had such a lot
of fun out of that car--"
On the last words the lad's changing voice went from an impressive bass to
a most undignified treble. He savagely scowled.
"Those three points," he continued, in more careful measured tones, "were
about all I could think of. I had to use 'em over and over--on mother when
things got bad, I mean." A flush of embarrassment came on his face. "And
hold her and kiss her," he muttered. Then he whipped his horses.
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