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Updated: April 30, 2025
"What's that?" asked the Old Man, but no one explained. The Little Doctor was struggling with the lump in her throat that he should try to joke about it. Then Weary was back and holding the little, black case out to her. She seized it eagerly, slipping Chip's head to her knees that she might use her hands freely. There was no halting over the tiny vials, for she had decided just what she must do.
He had a wife in Mass. and as I had often heard him talk of her, and of sending her money, I bought a $100 check and sent it in the same letter which bore the melancholy news. King had a claim at Chip's Flat which he believed would be very rich in time, so I kept his interest up in it till it amounted to $500 and then abandoned the claim and pocketed the loss.
The boy would be out of his class, I reckon, if he came up against this yere sprinter." The others seemed inclined to agree with Chip's view of the matter, but Sandy demurred.
"Why, maybe this very minute right now Chip's cracking his Thanksgiving dinner!" Terry laughed. "Same as we are! Maybe he's got to the nut cour oh, they're all nut courses! But maybe he's sittin' up to his table with the rest of the folks, thanksgiving to Heart's Delight," Silence said. Heart's Delight's little shy face nearly hid itself over her plate. This was dreadful!
He hurried out, returning in a moment with a bowl of cool water and a fringed napkin which he pilfered from the dining-room table, wisely intending to bathe Chip's head. But Chip would have none of him or his wise intentions. He jerked the wet napkin from the Old Man's fingers and threw it down behind the bed, knocked up the bowl of water into the Old Man's face and called him some very bad names.
But Chip's proceedings were stale to the decoy-ducks, who had seen him so often that they cared nothing, but stopped behind to partake of the food, while quite a hundred followed their leaders up the pipe in happy ignorance of the meaning of a net.
Chip's eyes wandered wistfully to the window, where a warm, spring breeze flapped the curtains in and out. "How long have I got to lie here?" he asked, reluctantly. "A month, at the least more likely six weeks," she said with kind bluntness. It was best he should know the worst at once.
There followed a few seconds during which the interview threatened to hang fire there, when the protest in Chip's hot heart which was essentially paternal broke out almost angrily: "Aren't you going to kiss me?" It was Tom who pointed out the unreasonableness of emotion in making this demand. His brows went up in an expression of surprise, which hinted at protest on his own part.
The spool rolled under the bed and she was obliged to get down upon her knees and claw it back, and she jarred the bed and set Chip's foot to hurting again something awful. When she finally secured the spool and resumed her chair, Chip's eyes were tightly closed, but the look of his mouth and the flush in his cheeks, together with his quick breathing, precluded the belief that he was asleep.
Once she saw Chip's face turned inquiringly toward the window, and telegraphed her state of mind while Mrs. Denson's back was turned so eloquently that Chip was swept at once into sympathetic good-fellowship. He arranged the cushion on the front seat significantly, and was rewarded by an emphatic, though furtive, nod and smile.
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