You're sure
you've no fever? Sure?"
"I'm well, Sammy. It was nothing but what you call a fainting-fit. For
some women it's nothing that they should faint every time they get a
little bit excited. It's nothing. Feel my hands--how cool! That's always
a sign--coolness."
He pressed them both to his lips, blowing his warm breath against them.
"There now--go to sleep."
The night-light burning weakly, the great black-walnut bedstead
ponderous in the gloom, she lay there mostly smiling and always
shamefaced.
"Such a thing should happen to me at my age!"
"Try to sleep, ma."
"Go in your room to bed, and then I get sleep. Do you want your own
clerks should beat you to business to-morrow?"
"A little whisky?"
"Go away; you got me dosed up enough with such _Schnapps_."
"The light lower?"
"No. If you don't go in your room, I lay here all night with my eyes
open, so help me!"
He rose, stiff and sore-kneed, hair awry, and his eyes with the red rims
of fatigue. "You'll sure ring the little bell if you want anything, ma?"
"Sure."
"You promise you won't get up to fix breakfast."
"If I don't feel good, I let you fix mine."
"Good night, little sweetheart mamma.
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