"Pretty hard, Johnny?" he gently asked.
"Oh, not so bad as it might be, I guess--"
"You'll soon feel better, they tell me, boy." John shut his eyes.
"Yes," he muttered.
"Can you stand my talking, just a minute?"
"Sure I can," John whispered. "I'm not suffering any now. He's given me
something to put me to sleep. What is it you want to talk about? Business?"
"Not exactly, partner. It's about the family. You've got so you're almost
one of us. I guess you know us pretty well."
"I guess I do. It's meant a lot to me, Mr. Gale--"
"But I'll tell you what you don't know, John," Roger went on slowly. "I had
a son in the family once, and he died when he was three months old. That
was a long time ago--and I never had another, you see--to take his
place--till you came along." There fell a breathless silence. "And I've
been thinking lately," Roger added steadily. "I haven't long to live, you
know. And I've been wondering whether--you'd like to come into the
family--take my name. Do you understand?"
John said nothing. His eyes were still closed. But presently, groping over
the bed, he found Roger's hand and clutched it tight. After this, from time
to time his throat contracted sharply. Tears welled from under his eyelids.
Then gradually, as the merciful drug which Allan had given did its work,
his clutch relaxed and he began breathing deep and hard. But still for some
time longer Roger sat quietly by his side.
Pages:
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359