FullReads

“Time,” said Spruce; “if my town had its way they’d been here long ago. Ever been in my town, Major?”

“No. Good-by, Spruce; keep quiet.”

“It’s the bulliest town in the country, and the prettiest. And when G company goes back–Oh, Lord, I won’t be with ’em!”

The surgeon’s hand on his shoulder prevented the movement which he would have made, and he apologized; “I didn’t mean to do that! Moving’s so bad. Tell you, I’d a time keeping the boys still; they would turn when they got a little off. Say, I got to talk, Major, something’s broke loose in me and I got to talk. I don’t want to, I just got to.”

When the nurse came he was so light-headed as to have no control of his words, yet quite able to recognize her and welcome her with an apologetic politeness.

“I’d have had some lemonade for you if I’d been up myself, ma’am. We’re glad to see you. All the G boys are convalescing; most of ’em’s gone. We all come from the same city; it’s an awful pretty town. I got a lot of friends there that maybe don’t take it in why I’m here ‘stead of with my regiment, with the old man. I got a good reason; only I can’t remember it now.”

* * * * *

The captain’s father stood outside the telegraph office in Spruce’s town. Beside him was the chairman of the relief committee.

“Too bad about that regular,” said the chairman. “Spruce–isn’t that his name? One of the boys telegraphed he couldn’t live through the day. Better have him brought here for the funeral, I guess; he’s been very faithful. Young Danvers wanted to go right down to Florida; but he had a relapse after he got home and he’s flat on his back.”

“I heard,” said the captain’s father; “I’ve just telegraphed, on my own responsibility, for them to send him here. It won’t make any difference to him, poor fellow; but we owe it to him. I wish we could do something that would help him, but I don’t see anything.”

“We have told them to spare no expense, and he’s got plenty of money. No, you have done everything. Well, good-by; remember me to the captain; we’re all proud of him.”

The captain’s father thanked him with rather an absent air. “I wish we could do something for that fellow,” he was thinking; “I don’t suppose a message to him would–when a fellow’s dying, messages are nonsense–it’s a bit of sentiment–I don’t care, I’ll do it!” He turned and went back into the office.

* * * * *

“I am afraid there is not a chance,” said the doctor; “too bad, he was a good fellow. Well, you can give him all the morphine he needs–and strychnine, though he’s past strychnine, I fear; morphine’s the one chance, and that’s mighty little.”

“He talked about wanting to see you,” said the nurse. She had a sweet voice, plainly a lady’s voice; and her slim figure, in the blue-striped gown and white surplice, had a lady’s grace. Her face was not handsome, nor was it very young, but it had a touch of her voice’s sweetness. The doctor found himself glad to look at her; and forgetting his patients in his interest in the nurse.

“Oh, yes,”–he roused himself–“I’ll look ’round later; I suppose he is delirious?”

“Not so much that he does not recognize us. He talks all the time of his town, poor fellow, and seems to want to have them understand that he hasn’t neglected his duty. He only once has spoken of any relations. It’s all the town, and the captain and Danvers making it right there; and the boys going back–I suppose he has lived there all his life and–“

“Not a bit of it; Danvers told me he merely enlisted from there. But they are making a great time over him. Telegraphed to have his body sent there; and here’s another telegram. See–“

“I’ll let him see,” said the nurse, taking it, “may I, Doctor?”

“Yes, but not the first part about sending him back; that’s a little too previous.”

The nurse’s touch roused Spruce. “Dick,” he murmured, “Dick, you tell the folks. I couldn’t go with the regiment–you know why.”

“They know why, too; here’s a telegram from your captain’s father: ‘Tell Spruce he’s the hero of Company G.'”

“Read it again!”

She read it. His hand tightened on hers. Her trained eyes were on his face.

“Ain’t it the–the bulliest town! I wisht I’d enough money to go back; but you see my folks got to have my pay. But I wisht–“

Her eyes, not the nurse’s now, but a woman’s, sought the doctor’s in a glance of question and appeal. He nodded.

Her sweet voice said: “And the town has telegraphed that no expense must be spared to cure you; but if you don’t recover you are to go back to them.”

Spruce drew a long, ecstatic sigh. “Oh–didn’t I tell you? Ain’t it the bulliest town!”

A minute later he murmured, “Thank you, Dick,” and, still holding the nurse’s hand, Spruce went to see his town.