He had been feverish all day.
"What--can I give you, Jerry-Jo?"
The old, pleading look was in the dark eyes, but low passion had vanished
forever.
"Could you--would you give me a kiss for the secret?"
"Yes, Jerry-Jo," and the kiss fell upon the white brow.
Could John Boswell have been there then he would have understood.
"You--you are crying! I feel a tear with the kiss!"
The quivering, broken smile smote Priscilla to the heart. The ward
was deathly quiet; only the deep breathing of men closer to life than
Jerry-Jo McAlpin broke the stillness.
"Why--do you cry?"
"You know, it's a bad habit of mine, Jerry-Jo."
"Yes. You--you cried on his book, you remember?"
"I remember."
"Do--you know where he is--now?"
"No. Do you?"
The head upon the strong, young arm moved restlessly.
"Yes--I know--and I'm--going to tell you! It's the biggest joke I ever
knew. Just to think--that you don't know, and he doesn't know, and--and
I do!"
A rattling, husky laugh shook the thin form dangerously. Every instinct
of the nurse rose in alarm and defence.
"You must not talk any more, Jerry-Jo.
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